


The Will Of Others

by WardsAreFunctioning



Series: A Truth Universally Acknowledged [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Jaws of Hakkon, Jaws of Hakkon DLC, Sisters, Trespasser, Trespasser DLC, jane austen references but not a jane austen plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-05-02 20:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 90,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14552706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WardsAreFunctioning/pseuds/WardsAreFunctioning
Summary: Two years after the defeat of Corypheus, the world has become wary of Inquisitor Jane Trevelyan -- and Thedas's good opinion once lost is lost forever.The Trespasser sequel toUnder Good Regulation, a combination of Dragon Age: Inquisition and Pride & Prejudice, which I highly recommend reading first.





	1. my eyes open'd, shining before me

 

_“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” - Elizabeth Bennet, Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen _

 

 

Jane Trevelyan chewed her bottom lip as she stared at the map on the war table, her eyes fixed on Orlais. She squeezed a fist in front of her face. A new gold marker in the shape of the sun sat over Halamshiral, shining as light poured in through the windows on the back wall.

Josephine had just returned from a visit to Val Royeaux. Rarely did she leave the city without something from Divine Victoria--a report, an occasional rumor, or sometimes even a friendly note. This time, however, the news was not so pleasant. Jane glanced at the letter again, scanning over the Divine’s elegant handwriting.

An Exalted Council was being assembled. Their first order of business would be to decide the future of the Inquisition. A conference would take place at the Winter Palace during the last week of Justinian, and the Inquisition's attendance was _strongly advised._

They had three months to prepare.

Unease simmered deep in the pit of Jane’s stomach. She did her best to focus on her advisers. Josephine spoke briskly, as she always did when she was nervous. She tried to assure Jane that things would be fine, so long as the Inquisition could present itself in a favorable manner. Leliana hung back and remained silent. Jane suspected that she was not as surprised by this turn of events as the rest of them. Cullen complained that Victoria could probably have handled the matter herself. He went as far as to suggest that they should not go, arguing that whatever ridiculous accusations Ferelden had concocted would never pass muster in front of Most Holy.

Jane didn’t know what to think. She’d been aware that some of her critics had become louder as of late, but found it hard to believe things had escalated this quickly. She glanced at the bottom of the letter, where Divine Victoria had expressed her regret in a brief postscript.

 _I am sorry it’s come to this, darling,_ she wrote. _I’ve tried to subdue the tensions as much as possible,_ _but even my reach has its limits._

Jane sighed, dropping the letter to the table. She really hated the Game. Years ago, Leliana and Josephine had called her a natural player, but Jane felt time had proved them wrong. She was just a Marcher, after all. All she’d ever done was exceed the court’s low expectations.

And that card lost value every time she played it.

“Inquisitor?”

Jane snapped her head up, blinking. All three of her advisers were looking at her. “Oh,” she said. “My apologies. Could you…?” She cleared her throat, flustered. “Could you repeat that?”

“Certainly,” Josephine said, the picture of patience. “I was explaining to the Commander that we cannot refuse to attend. Ferelden demanded action against us, and this was Victoria’s response. It would be an insult and an outrage if we did not comply.”

“An insult?” Cullen asked. “To whom? Ferelden _already_ considers us a menace--”

“An insult to the Divine,” Josephine clarified, stopping him. She gave him a firm look. “We _do_ have Most Holy’s support. That is not something we want to jeopardize.”

“No,” Jane agreed instantly. “No, of course not.”

Victoria _was_ an asset. She’d been a loyal friend and ally for two years now. If she could not prevent this sort of backlash, then perhaps it was inevitable. Back when she’d been Vivienne, the Divine had pledged that she would protect the Inquisition and Southern Thedas at any cost, in exchange for an unofficial endorsement. An Exalted Council was exactly the sort of thing that Jane considered when she’d made her choice. Infighting during times of peace was all but assured, and a unified South was necessary to any stable future for Thedas.

“So, we attend.” Jane looked to Josephine. “What can we expect when we get there?”

“A day or two of celebration and festivities,” Josephine said. “Then a week of negotiations. You will need to speak, of course. The main challenge will be to appease Orlais and Ferelden, without giving into their demands.”

“And what are their demands, exactly?”

“Ferelden…,” Josephine began, then paused, as if searching for the words.

Leliana stepped forward to answer. “Ferelden would have us disband,” she said smoothly, clasping her hands behind her back.

Jane fought to keep the unease from spreading. She clenched her fist tighter. “Disband,” she repeated. “Based on what?”

“Officially?” Leliana asked. “We hold Caer Bronach, which is rightfully theirs. We host a large military force right on their border. We have settled matters among their nobility and landowners without waiting for the crown’s consent. And we still protect the mages who invited Tevinter soldiers into Redcliffe.”

“But that’s all been true for years,” Jane said.

“Yes,” Leliana agreed. “Which means their anger has had time to brew. To be honest, I am surprised they waited so long to speak out against us.”

Jane closed her eyes. Leliana had always warned her that the Inquisition’s power would be called into question one day. Jane had just assumed it would be more gradual.

“Fine,” she said, resigned. “We’ll offer to withdraw our troops from Caer Bronach and reduce the size of our military.”

Cullen stiffened. “Inquisitor, I must object--”

Leliana cut him off. “That won’t be sufficient. Those are only their _official_ complaints, Inquisitor. Their true concern is not what we have done. It is who we are.” Her gaze sharpened. “Who _you_ are. Currently, you hold more power than any other one person in Thedas.” She tilted her head forward. “They are not sure what you plan to do with it.”

Cullen’s frown deepened. “They didn’t seem to mind when she was fighting Corypheus.”

“True,” Leliana said, her eyes flicking to him. “But who is she fighting now?” She let the question hang for a brief moment, then looked back to Jane. “The further Corypheus sinks into the past, the smaller he seems. The larger you appear. _You_ fought a would-be God and won. That worries them.”

Jane raised her eyebrows. “You mean they’re scared of me,” she realized.

“Who would not be, in their position?” Leliana asked. “The Inquisition was established to restore order, was it not? Order has been restored. _Why, then,_ the Fereldans ask themselves, _are we still in the Inquisition’s shadow?”_

Jane studied Leliana, who met her gaze. She could sense there was something left unsaid, and suspected she knew what it was: Leliana did not necessarily disagree with Ferelden.

She filed that away for later and turned to Josephine. “What does Orlais think of all this?”

“According to _Orlais,_ ” Josephine said, emphasizing the word by jabbing her quill into the air, “the problem is not that you hold a great deal of power; it is that you hold a great deal of power, _unchecked._ Celene supports our continued existence… conditionally. She would protect us by having the Inquisition fall under a branch of the Orlesian military.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered.

Jane blinked. “What would that even _look_ like?” she wondered.

“Supervision, to begin with,” Josephine said. “All plans, proposals, and decisions would need to be approved by someone within the court. Celene herself would be able to make changes to our structure, our staff.” Josephine gave the other two advisers a wary glance. “Meaning… any of us could be removed, if Celene thought it was in the best interests of the empire.”

“Maryden would be out a job,” Leliana observed drily.

Jane pursed her lips. “I assume that Celene would want an adviser of her own, here at Skyhold.”

“Most likely,” Josephine agreed.

Cullen shook his head. “No.” When the others looked at him, confused, he crossed his arms and clarified. “That is to say--well, of course she’ll want someone on the council, but it wouldn’t be _here._ Staying at Skyhold would be out of the question. If we wish to remain in the Frostbacks, we can no more ally ourselves with Orlais than Tevinter.”

“Commander,” Josephine chided.

Leliana stopped her. “He’s not wrong, Josie. Ferelden is already unhappy with our presence. They would not appreciate an arm of the Orlesian military residing within riding distance of Redcliffe.”

“True,” Josephine said. “However, if we were allied with Celene, they would no longer be in a position to make demands of us.”

Jane studied the map. “That’s hardly the way to go about it. I’m not interested in escalating tensions between Orlais and Ferelden.” She sighed, rubbing her chin. “Just how likely is it that one of them will be able to force our hand?”

“The Divine will speak in our defense,” Josephine assured her. “Which should help a great deal. We should be prepared for _any_ possibility… but there is a good chance we will be able to continue to operate as we currently do. If we are careful.”

Jane nodded, relaxing slightly. The Divine would be able to turn this around. There _were_ times Jane regretted choosing Victoria--her mind flashed briefly to her sister--but this was not one of them.

Josephine went on, “We simply need to convince Orlais and Ferelden that we are not a threat. That we respect their authority and jurisdiction.”

Cullen broke in. “We should also remind them why they had faith in the Inquisitor in the first place.”

“Yes,” Josephine agreed, nodding. “Outside of those we border directly, the Herald of Andraste remains a hero to many. Seeing the undefeated Inquisitor herself will impress the delegates from other nations and cities, which will cause those from Ferelden and Orlais to doubt themselves.” She gave Jane an anxious smile. “If all goes well, we should be back at Skyhold, under our own banners, by the end of Solace.” Jane was silent, and Josephine’s smile faltered. “If… that is how you wish to proceed, Inquisitor.”

Jane glanced at Leliana, who didn’t speak. She swallowed, looking back down at the map. _Halamshiral._ Josephine had placed the sunburst marker so that the city’s name was half-obscured, and Jane fought the urge to move it elsewhere.

“It is,” she said. She tore her eyes away. “We should invite some guests of our own. As many as possible. If we show up with the skeleton crew we have now, they’ll take it as a sign of weakness.”

“An excellent idea,” Josephine said. “Would you like me to contact them?”

“No,” Jane said. “I’ll reach out. It’s… been a long time, for some of them.”

 _Too long_ , she thought. She forced the dread in her stomach to dissipate. _Control what you can, and have faith in what you cannot,_ she reminded herself. That was all she could do for now. She glanced up at her advisers.

“Well, it will be good to see some of our old friends, won’t it?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound more cheerful. Cullen’s worried gaze lingered, and she avoided meeting it. “Any other news, Josie?”

Josephine shifted her stance, scanning the page on her board. “A few items.” She placed her quill on her board, notating as she spoke. “After ten years without a proper Viscount, Kirkwall will be holding an election next month.”

“Finally,” Cullen said, with a sharp turn of his head. He held out his hand. “May I?”

“We will have to send a congratulatory note to whoever wins,” Josephine said as she passed the letter to him. He began to read, and she went to her next item of business. “Dorian wrote me while I was in the city. There _may_ have been a skirmish on the border of Tevinter and Nevarra. Tevinter says they were attacked. Nevarra is claiming it was bandits. Dorian is not sure which story he believes.”

“Well, at least they agree something _happened_ this time,” Leliana said. She leaned over Josephine’s shoulder to see the details. “Hm. That is not far from an agent of ours. Perhaps we can find a witness.”

Josephine continued. “A professor from the University of Orlais began excavation in the Frostback Basin last week. He is searching for new information about the disappearance of the last Inquisitor. We have already sent scouts and funds, but given the _obvious_ connection, I think we should consider having an official representative--”

“Ameridan?” Jane asked, interrupting.

Josephine looked up, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry,” Jane said. “The last Inquisitor. You mean Ameridan?”

Josephine blinked, glancing back at her note. “Ah--yes. Inquisitor Ameridan. That is correct.”

“They’ve found his body?”

“Not… precisely. The professor believes he has found the location of the Inquisitor's final known whereabouts. They’ve only just started exploring the area.”

 _Inquisitor Ameridan._ Jane crossed her arms, tapping her elbow in thought. Her grandfather had been something of an amateur historian. He’d told Jane and her sisters stories about several historical figures, including the famed last Inquisitor. Ameridan had been Jane's favorite. In the early days of her title, Jane’s mind had returned again and again to the tales of the man whose shoes she was expected to fill. When she tried to picture him, all she could see was the large, stern-faced portrait in her grandfather's library.

It was her cousin John’s library now. Lydia had visited the previous winter and reported that a portrait of Jane now sat on the opposite wall. Somehow, the thought was unnerving.

“I’ll go,” Jane decided.

Josephine’s eyes widened. “Inquisitor,” she began, the objection clear in her tone.

“Ameridan interests me,” Jane said. She gave Josephine a small smile. “You know. Given the _obvious_ connection,” she echoed.

“But the Exalted Council….” Josephine trailed off.

“It’s in three months,” Jane said gently. “It’s fine. I have time.”

“But should you be injured--or detained--if anything should happen…,” Josephine said. She shook her head. “We _must_ take the Exalted Council seriously, Inquisitor. Otherwise, we risk _everything._ ”

“It’s a dig site, Josie, not the Deep Roads,” Jane said. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I think it’s a fine idea, actually,” Leliana added. “It has been far too long since the Inquisitor left Skyhold for something other than a diplomatic mission.” She cocked an eyebrow, a faint smile on her lips. “I am sure she misses the road.”

“You would need to bring a party,” Cullen told Jane. “The Basin can be quite treacherous, and these are academics. They might not be aware of what they’re dealing with down there.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t go alone,” Jane assured him. She turned to Josephine, giving her a significant look. “That means Cassandra will be with me. You _know_ she’ll get me back in time for the Council, come Blight or high water.”

Josephine frowned at her board. She relented, sighing. “Very well.” Jane gave her a grateful smile, but Josephine held up one hand.  “ _If_ we are to make this work, you will need to leave as soon as possible. Send me a list of your essentials tonight, and I will make sure the Quartermaster has everything ready by the end of the week.”

“Thank you,” Jane said sincerely.

Josephine reviewed her board, pursing her lips. “Well. In light of your upcoming departure, perhaps we should touch on the remaining items tomorrow. You’ll need to write to this Professor Kenric tonight.”

Leliana chuckled. _“He_ is in for quite the surprise.”

“And we need to notify the others,” Josephine said.

Jane nodded. No one asked which companions she would bring; her party was a foregone conclusion. Her inner circle at Skyhold had dwindled over the past two years, with most of Jane’s companions moving on to new positions or returning to old ones. The only three left were Cassandra, Sera, and Cole.

“We’ll reconvene tomorrow, then,” Jane said. “Is that all?” She glanced at each of them for confirmation. When no one objected, she said, “Meeting adjourned.”

Josephine strode off to find Quartermaster Morris. Leliana took a shortcut from the war room to the garden, undoubtedly wanting to share the latest news with Cassandra. Cullen paused at the door, raising an eyebrow.

“You go ahead,” Jane said. “I need a moment.”

Cullen nodded and left. When the door thudded shut behind him, Jane was alone.

Her gaze returned to the map. After a moment, she picked up one of the older Inquisition markers, a burning silver eye. It stared back at her. The engraving had once been sharp and clear, a fierce glare that reminded her somehow of Marianne Hawke. But Jane’s habit of rubbing the surface had dulled it into something softer.

Absently, she twirled it between her fingers. Tilting her chin upward, she placed it over the Frostback Basin.

 

~~~

 

Jane grabbed a couple of books about the Inquisition of old from the library. She took them to her chambers and sent for an early supper of herbed pork and sweetened root vegetables. After she’d eaten and taken a few pages of notes, she wrote a brief letter to Professor Kenric, explaining that she’d be there in a week or so.

Josephine would provide the majority of the supplies, but there were some things that Jane needed to pack herself. A brief appraisal of her best set of armor proved that she’d neglected to maintain it as well as she could have. She sent it down to Harritt, asking him and Lizzie to fix it up as best they could in the allotted time frame.

The sun began to set. Jane watched it from her side balcony for a few minutes, lost in thought. In the back of her mind, she’d always planned to disband the Inquisition one day. It was one of the first things she and Cassandra had discussed after Corypheus’s death. But they’d agreed at the time, and every time since then, that Thedas still needed them. It had only been two years. Nothing seemed fully stabilized yet.

Turning away, she headed toward the small chantry by the courtyard. It was empty when she arrived, cold and still. Leftover votives burned at the statue of Andraste’s feet, though the lay sisters who’d lit them had long since left. A lone thurible smoked in the corner, and the scent of candle wax and burnt rosewood lingered in the air.

Jane stepped forward. She took one knee at the apse, gazing upon the statue’s stone face. Andraste stared into the distance with her grey arms outstretched in supplication. After a moment, Jane bowed her head and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear her mind. She began to recite the Chant of Benedictions. At first, the words themselves were enough. They calmed her--measured, ancient, familiar. When she began the verse a second time, she searched deep within herself for any traces left of distraction, any pieces of mortal sin that she would need to surrender.

Then she prayed.

Jane knew full well that the Maker Himself did not hear the prayers of men. He’d turned His back on her people long ago. But that did not mean she was alone. Andraste had blessed the world with the gift of guidance. The Maker may have abandoned His children, but His Bride had heard His will and considered mankind worthy. Jane took comfort in that.

Prayer was not for requests or demands, she believed. It was for contemplation. In times of doubt or distress, she meditated on the words of the Chant; she explored the depths of her own heart; she sought counsel from those around her and thought on what they said. Mercy was everywhere, if one knew where to seek it. Even those who did not know or follow the Chant were grown from virtuous soil. She trusted that the good of the Maker was in the fruits of His creations--in _all_ His creations--with or without His hand.

Breathing in, she turned her heart toward the Exalted Council.

The last of twilight disappeared from the windows as she prayed. Only the votives stayed bright. An hour or more passed before the door creaked open behind her. She did not react immediately, though she recognized the slow gait, the faint clink of metal boots on stone.

Cullen waited silently at the back of the room while she finished her final verse. When she was done, she stood without turning.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said.

“Yes. I have a lot on my mind.” She smiled sadly as he came to stand beside her. “As do you, I’m sure.” She examined the statue again, wondering if it was much of a likeness. Hers usually weren’t. “Which would be worse, do you think? An Orlesian Inquisition, or no Inquisition at all?”

Cullen crossed his arms. She could almost hear his scowl. “To be perfectly frank, neither option sounds particularly favorable.”

“But if you had to choose?” she asked, looking at him.

“If I had to choose?” He considered, working his jaw. “Orlais. We may not be fighting Corypheus anymore, but there is work to be done. Good work. Besides, the Orlesian military is not as restrictive as the court--or so I’ve heard. I may not agree with-- _Gaspard,”_ he stumbled briefly over the name, glancing at Jane, “but I’d be a fool not to recognize he’s a capable man. The civil war would not have gone on as long as it did, if he were not.”

“The good work we do--surely we could do it with less power.”

“At present, perhaps,” Cullen allowed. “But no one knows what the future holds. The Grey Wardens don’t _disband_ when a Blight’s over. They train and recruit for the next one.” He made a face. “Ostensibly, at least. In any event--if we weren’t here, and a new threat appeared--if a large army became necessary, then… well, it would be quite difficult to rebuild.” He dropped his gaze, his voice turning softer. “Or… that is what I _should_ say. As commander of your army.”

Jane raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

He hesitated, but she was patient. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it.  Sometimes he needed a moment to parse through his own mind. As it turned out, lyrium was not the only templar habit that Cullen had difficulty breaking. He struggled with the person behind his title--his _own_ needs and desires, instead of the ones he’d been trained to put first. His sense of duty could veer toward obsession. When that happened, he ended up pushing people away; it had nearly estranged him from his own family.

He’d told Jane he did not want to risk doing the same thing to her. That she was a pillar of strength he could ill afford to lose. That he did not want to be the man he was before her again. 

“I think a part of me wishes we could disband,” he confessed after a moment.

She lowered her brow. “Really?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. “Yes. Or that--that you and I could retire, at least. It would be nice to leave some of this behind. Settle down somewhere.” He peeked up at her, his expression masked by the shade. “Um. Start a family, perhaps.”

Jane’s eyes widened. Her heart jumped to her throat. This was something she’d avoided discussing, knowing that her mother had once broached the topic and probably in poor taste; but it was something that she wanted desperately.

“I--,” Cullen said, sounding flustered. He misinterpreted her speechlessness. “If that’s something you’d want, I mean. Your mother once told me--.” He looked away. “Forgive me, this was not what I had--”

Before he could finish his sentence, Jane grabbed his cloak and dragged him down, kissing him. He was too surprised to respond at first. She laughed against his mouth as he stood there dumbly. Her chest felt impossibly light. After a moment, she felt him smile. He wrapped his arms around her and tilted her back, breaking the seam of her lips with his tongue. His kiss was earnest and warm, his relief contagious.

They pulled apart, and he pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her eyes. She laughed again. “ _Yes_ ,” she whispered, giddy. “That _is_ something I want.”

The corner of his mouth tugged into a grin. “You do,” he said, as if surprised.

She kissed him again, then pulled back, still clutching him. “But Cullen… we don’t need to _retire_ to start a family. Skyhold is safe. Kieran lived here for almost a year, and he seemed perfectly happy.”

“We may not be at Skyhold forever,” Cullen reminded her. “Wherever we go--it may not be safe.”

Jane shook her head. “No. But that’d be true of anywhere. People raise children in all sorts of circumstances.”

Cullen still looked doubtful. “What of you, and your duties? If you were,” he paused, taking a breath, and his face seemed to flush even further as he glanced at her torso, “... well, you would not be able to rush off to the Frostback Basin at a moment’s notice.”

“Which is fine,” she insisted with a smile. “This will be the first time I’ve gone adventuring since the Deep Roads, and that was over a year ago.” She bit back a laugh. “It takes less time than that to have a child.”

“I… suppose so, yes.”

Her grin widened. “Besides,” she said in a quieter tone, running her fingers through the fur on his cloak, making it lie flat, “I rather like the sound of Inquisitor Jane Rutherford, don’t you?”

Cullen startled, his eyes wide. “Jane Ru--.” He stumbled over his words. “No. Your name is far better known. I wouldn’t presume--.” He trailed off, blinking. “Trevelyan is a _noble_ house.”

“I’d prefer to take Rutherford,” she told him. “I’d always planned to take a name, if I got married. I… I like traditions.”

“Traditions,” Cullen echoed thoughtfully.

“Well. I like _that_ one. Being the Inquisitor doesn’t have to change things.” Her smile fell slightly. “I hope not, at least.” She tried to read his thoughts on his face, but it was still flat. “Of course, if you’d rather I didn’t….” She paused. “I… just like the thought of it being _our_ name.”

He looked at her. “Jane Rutherford,” he repeated, softly, as if testing the sounds. A wave of affection surged in her. She buried her face in his shoulder, mussing the fur she’d just smoothed. Once she felt able to speak, she shifted to look at him, clearing her throat.

“So… does this mean we’re betrothed?”

Cullen opened and closed his mouth. “Oh.” He stopped, looking conflicted. “I’d, um…. I'd _like_ to say yes, but--”

Jane waved her hand, feeling a little embarrassed. “Sorry. Never mind. That wasn’t meant to be a proposal.” She shrugged, giving him a smile. “I’m leaving soon. We can discuss it when I return.”

“Alright,” he said.

“Besides,” she said, laughing gently, “can you imagine what Josie would do if we got engaged without giving her any warning? Right before visiting Orlais?”

Cullen huffed, relaxing a little, and pulled her closer. “Maker. I’m sure the woman would have our heads.”

They left the chantry together a little later, hand-in-hand. Cullen spoke a bit of her upcoming trip, but Jane could hardly remember the details of their conversation an hour later. She was too distracted. As she fell asleep that night, images floated in her head of a laughing, barefooted child with golden hair, running through the halls of Skyhold.

 

~~~

 

The day before she was set to leave, Jane found herself in the Undercroft staircase, her hands fidgeting at her sides. Harritt had sent her a note that the armor was ready, and asked her to come pick it up in person. She tried to calm her nerves, reminding herself again that it was not strange for the Inquisitor to visit one of her own forges.

Still, she hated going down there. It was not that she wished to avoid Lizzie. It hurt to see her sister, of course--time seemed to have no effect on _that_ particular wound--but between their duties and Lizzie healing Jane’s anchor, they still saw each other frequently. No, Jane’s main concern was trying to give Lizzie a space of her own. She had realized, in retrospect, that she’d more or less trapped her sister within the Inquisition. Divine Victoria had kept her word and let the Inquisition have their mages, but outside the walls of the Keep, the Circles had returned. If Lizzie left, she would be considered an apostate. It was unfortunate and unintentional, and Jane felt a deep sense of guilt whenever she thought of it.

Thus she gave Lizzie the Undercroft. She only visited when she absolutely needed to, and tried to make sure that her sister knew well in advance. That afternoon, Jane hadn’t had time to warn her.

Things had improved between them over the past year. There had never been outright impoliteness, which gave Jane some hope that they could grow close again. When Kitty or Cullen were present, or when Bull and the Chargers visited, Lizzie even bordered on friendly. It never lasted long, though, and every time she reverted back to cold, short replies, it felt like losing her all over again.

Jane took a deep breath and pushed open the door, trying to look at ease.

“Inquisitor,” Harritt said from the forge as she entered.

“Hello!” Dagna said with a wave.

Jane greeted them both. Lizzie glanced up from her desk, then looked back down at what appeared to be a schematic. Jane took the opportunity to study her sister briefly. For the first six months after Solas left, Lizzie had entered a deep depressive state. She hardly ever ate, and worked herself half to death on the forge.

She looked better these days. She was still too thin, but her face had lost the gaunt, frightening appearance of the previous year, and sometimes smiles lingered around her serious eyes.

Harritt put down his hammer. “Here to pick up the goods?”

Jane returned her attention to him. “Yes.”

“Think you’ll be happy with this,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron. He went to one of the storage units on the side of the room and began shuffling through. Once he found the pieces, he helped her don the heavy armor and tighten the straps. Jane could tell Lizzie had assisted him; her work was always so much more aesthetic than Harritt’s, and the chest piece was engraved with one her signature Inquisition eyes. Besides, Lizzie preferred to dress Jane in deep crimson and silver. The dark red cowl around Jane’s neck was a dead giveaway.

Once the armor was on, Jane straightened her back and tested a few of the joints. It was comfortable, but sturdy. Familiar. The scent of leather and oil hit her, and a thousand memories of fights and missions came back to her. She realized Leliana was right. She _did_ miss the road.

“Thank you,” Jane told Harritt.

“No trouble, Inquisitor,” Harritt said. He shot a quick glance toward Lizzie’s desk before returning to the storage unit. “And, uh. There’s another reason we wanted you to come down here today. I know you didn’t request it, but your sister thought you might want a new shield.”

Jane turned her head, surprised. Lizzie glanced up, meeting her eyes. She smiled faintly, then let her eyes drift to Harritt. Jane turned back to see he’d pulled out a large, strange shield. It was shaped like a diamond, with thick wedges protruding in the front. The points were sharp, enough that she could cause some real damage if an enemy got near enough.

The design was not the only thing that caught Jane’s eye. The metal was unlike anything she’d ever seen--a beautiful, iridescent shade of green. It reminded her of the scar the Breach had left in the sky.

Jane took the grip, admiring its unusual weight and form. “What _is_ this?”

Harritt gestured at Lizzie, prompting her to speak. She paused, then folded her schematic, standing. “They’re calling it Veil Quartz,” she said as she approached. “One of the scouts sent a bit of it back from the Frostback Basin. Apparently, the rifts have an unusual effect on the stone there.” She shrugged, leaning against one of Harritt’s contraptions. “It’s very strong. And I know you rely on your shield.”

“That,” Harritt said, looking disgruntled, “and you were _dying_ for an excuse to work with the stuff.” He made a face. “If you ask me, anything the Veil’s leaking on should stay where it is.”

“Dagna says its safe to use,” Lizzie told him.

“It is!” Dagna confirmed cheerfully. “And you use fade-touched metal all the time, don’t you, Harritt?”

Harritt made a dismissive noise. “Not the same thing,” he said.

“It’s just a shame we didn’t have enough for a sword or a staff,” Lizzie mused. Dagna nodded her agreement.

“Thank the Maker,” Harritt muttered.

She ignored him. “How does the grip feel?” she asked Jane.

“The grip is good,” Jane said, testing it for balance.

Lizzie’s smile was a little fuller this time. “Good.” She reached out a hand and traced one of the wedges of the shield fondly, tilting her head. “These aren’t just for design. If a sword hits here--” she tapped the midpoint of the shield, then moved her finger upward to the top rim, “--then it will slide up and get caught here. It should make it easier to deflect things.”

Jane nodded. “Thank you,” she said, sincerely. “This is excellent. You’re a wonderful smith, Lizzie. Really.”

Lizzie stilled. She stepped back and crossed her arms, her smile fading a little. “Happy to help,” she said. She bit her lip, glancing at the shield again. “Do… do you want me to take a look at your hand while you’re here?”

“Oh,” Jane said. “Yes, absolutely.”

She slipped the shield off her arm, leaning it against the wall. She held her left hand out, palm up. Lizzie took it in both of hers, her thumbs stroking the sides of the anchor. Her eyes took on the odd look they did whenever she examined magic, her pupils dilated until they almost swallowed the brown in her eyes.

“It feels fine,” Jane told her after a moment.

And it did. For over a year, the anchor had grown painful and erratic. Jane had started to worry the magic could consume her, as Solas had once suggested. It took months of trial and error, but eventually, Lizzie devised a way to control it. Now it was a small slit, hardly visible through a glove, more like it had been at Haven.  

“Good,” Lizzie said, satisfied. She let go. “It should be fine until you're back, then. If you need to examine it before you go, just let Cillian know. He should be up to the task now.”

Jane nodded, feeling a pang. Lizzie had always planned to train another mage to help with the anchor. Cillian was a Dalish elf. His expertise in elven magic made him an ideal candidate, and Jane appreciated his help--yet already, she felt the loss of one of the few things she still shared with her sister.

Lizzie seemed to hesitate. “Well. Good luck in the Basin, Inquisitor.”

“I think you were all set with swords, weren’t you?” Harritt asked, while Jane swallowed past a flinch at her title. She watched Lizzie walk back to her desk and tried to focus on what he was saying. “I know the commander usually handles that for you.”

“Yes,” Jane said quietly. She dropped her gaze to her new shield. “Yes, I believe so. I’ll have everything sent down to Josephine this evening.”

“Oh!” Dagna said. “Let us know if you find more Veil quartz, will you? Elizabeth was thinking of making a staff, and I'm just _dying_ to see it conduct energy.”

Harritt scoffed. Jane resisted turning back to her sister. “I will,” she told Dagna instead, hoping she’d be able to find some.

 

~~~

 

In the morning, Jane woke early in Cullen’s bed. Cullen was dressing. Despite spending more than half their nights together for two years, they each maintained their own room at Skyhold. Jane preferred sleeping in his tower, but Josephine insisted she keep her chambers for visitors.

Jane blinked blearily at Cullen’s bare back, taking a moment to appreciate the way his muscles moved under his skin before his shirt fell into place. Running a dab of oil through his hair, he turned and noticed her. He leaned down for a kiss. Jane gripped his jaw when he began to pull away, keeping him a moment longer. She was going to miss him dearly.

He smirked when she released him. “Good morning to you, too. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Not at all,” she said, stretching. “I need to be up anyway.” She climbed out of bed and began her morning routine. As she rinsed her face (she’d taken a bath the night before, knowing it would be nearly impossible in the Basin), she realized he was watching her, a somewhat thoughtful frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked,

Cullen started, as if coming back to the present. “Nothing.”

She watched him rush through donning the rest of his armor, concerned.

“You're fine with me leaving?” she asked after a moment, though she was fairly sure she knew his answer. Cullen had complete faith in her, to a point that amazed her sometimes. He would miss her, just as she would him, but he never resented her for travelling.

But normally, they hadn't just been moments away from what had felt like a botched marriage proposal. Was he disappointed that she’d be on the road again, so soon after he expressed an interest in settling down?

“Of course,” he said. “It works out, actually.”

Jane raised her eyebrow. “It does?”

A flush crept up his neck, to her surprise. “Ah, yes. I have a few things I need to… attend to. While you’re away.”

She wiped her face dry with a cloth. “Oh, for your idea?” Cullen had been considering creating a safe place for templars to recover from lyrium addiction, now that he had more information on the subject.

“No,” he said slowly. “It’s a project. For Josephine.” He looked fixedly his hands as they worked his straps. “I’ll have to tell you more when you return.”

Jane shrugged on her leather travelling vest and smoothed her hair back into a bun. She slid her arms around him from behind and kissed his cheek. “Alright. I’m going to grab some food for the road. Meet you by the stables?”

Cullen gave her a crooked smile over his shoulder. “Be there shortly.”

 

~~~

 

The trip to the Frostback Basin was uneventful. Despite it being almost summer, the air seemed unusually cool in the area surrounding the camp. They were greeted by Professor Kenric himself. He was younger than Jane had expected, and quite eager, if a little vague in manners and disposition. Harding had been at the camp for a week; she seemed somewhere between exasperated with and fond of his lectures.

After she’d placed her gear in the cabins, Jane explored the camp. She greeted the few people she knew by name. Her feet led her to the tall wooden entrance. Leaning against a beam, she looked out at the Basin. The sun was low in the sky, making the streams and ponds glitter, gold and blue. A breeze rustled the ferns lining the path to the lake. She breathed in the cold air deeply and let it out.

“It’s rather beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice observed behind her. She turned to see Cassandra.

“We’ve certainly been worse places,” she agreed.

They stood for a moment, at peace. A squawking bird with bright feathers flew overhead and Jane watched it. She was reminded of the Arbor Wilds.

“Thank you for allowing me to come,” Cassandra said finally.

“No, thank _you_ for coming,” Jane said sincerely. “It’s nice to have someone who actually cares about Ameridan around. Other than Kenric, I mean.” She gave her a curious glance. “And any information on him will be beneficial to your Seekers, don’t you think?”

Cassandra looked amused. “I believe _you_ have more cause to be invested in this expedition than I do.” She raised an eyebrow. _“Inquisitor,”_ she added for emphasis.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jane teased. “Some people think he was proclaimed Hero of Orlais before he vanished.” She grinned. “So perhaps we _both_ share titles with him.”

Cassandra crossed her arms. “You have done your research.”

“To be honest, Ameridan fascinated me long before the Inquisition.”

“Is that so? I did not take you for one interested in Chantry history.”

“I’m not, usually,” Jane said, looking at the ground. She drew a circle in the dirt with her foot. “But my grandfather was. And something about Ameridan’s disappearance spoke to me.” She smiled softly. “Nothing like an unsolved mystery when you’re a child, is there? I used to tell Grandfather I’d find him myself.” She laughed. “As if he was just hiding in the attic.”

“You are fulfilling a childhood dream, then.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. If we find anything.”

“What is your favorite theory?” Cassandra asked after a moment.

Jane hummed, considering. “As a young girl, I used to think he ran away with his lover. That seemed to be the most romantic option.”

“I’ve always preferred that one myself,” Cassandra agreed.

“But the Second Blight began not long afterward,” Jane went on, trying to keep the strain from her voice. “And he… never reappeared.”

Cassandra dismissed that. “He was no Grey Warden. What could he have done?”

“I don’t know,” Jane admitted. “Something.” She chewed her lip. “You can't go from saving the world to just… leaving it to rot.”

Cassandra paused. “Perhaps he thought he had earned a break,” she suggested. Jane could tell that Cassandra was not only talking about Ameridan anymore, not really. “Perhaps he chose to stay away.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

She thought of Cullen, and a home with a barefooted, golden-haired child. They were in a house--somewhere in Ferelden, maybe. The child had Cullen’s eyes and laugh, and she felt as though she could smell the fire burning in the hearth.  

When she did inhale, she caught the scent of leather and oil, and of spring. Shaking her head to clear the image, she looked down again.

“But I doubt it,” she finished. “I think Ameridan would have returned, if he could have. Something stopped him.”

She could feel Cassandra’s sharp gaze focus on her. “No one could fault him for wanting to lead a life of his own. A life without the Inquisition.”

Jane met Cassandra’s gaze with a sad smile. “And who is to say that _that_ is what he wanted?”

Cassandra had no reply. They lapsed into silence again, staring at the view.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friends! Hope it's not to jarring to see things from Jane's POV. Also, this fic will have very little Lizzie/Solas, so I apologize for that in advance. It's one of the reasons I made it a standalone. Take your complaints to Patrick Weekes. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed it! :)


	2. hand all outstretch'd

“Inquisitor.”

Jane glanced back at Cassandra. They were trekking through another stream, and the water felt icy cold around her ankles. Nowadays, Cassandra only used Jane’s title when she was annoyed at Jane, proud of the Inquisition, or at a formal event. From Cassandra’s clipped tone and tense jaw, Jane could guess which version this was.

“Yes?” she asked, innocently.

“I do not wish to point out the obvious, but we have passed the boat.”

Jane looked around. They were on the shore of the lake that gave the Basin its name, heading south from Stone-Bear Hold. Golden sunlight slanted down and stretched the shadows around them.

“So we have,” she said.

The day had been slow going. Professor Kenric had traced Ameridan’s trail to an island in the middle of the lake. Somehow, despite the generosity of the University in the way of provisions, the necessity of a boat had been overlooked. They had no way of getting there. Eventually they’d found an Avvar man willing to lend them his, so long as his Hold’s thane approved. Which meant an unplanned trip to Stone-Bear Hold.

On top of that, they’d been attacked twice by a separate group of Avvar, men specifically looking to kill Jane herself--a group that called themselves “Hakkonites”. When they’d met with the thane of Stone-Bear Hold, Jane had asked for more information on the second clan. They were known to be aggressive, but no one was quite sure why they were targeting the Inquisition.

Jane paused, adjusting her now damp boots. Harding had mentioned that the Basin was much colder than usual this spring. She wondered if that could be related to the strange ice magic the Hakkonites used.

“Why have we passed the boat?” Cassandra asked, bringing her back to the present.

“I thought we could look around a bit,” she explained with a shrug. “See if there are some resources we could pick up.”

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra said again, her tone stern. “This cannot be like the Hinterlands. You have a schedule to maintain. I _assured_ Josephine that this mission would be as straightforward as possible.”

 _“That’s_ gone tits up, then,” Sera commented from the rear. “These idiots sound like the Veni-what’s-its. _‘Death to the Inquisitor!’_ ” She rolled her eyes. 

“My point,” Cassandra said impatiently, “is that you have scouts. _They_ can search for resources.”

Jane kept her voice light. “I’m looking for something in particular,” she explained. “Veil Quartz.”

Cassandra had caught up with her, matching stride. “Veil Quartz?” she asked. “Why?”

Jane hesitated. Cole answered instead. “Green from grey, glittering bright. She likes it _strong._ The shield keeps you safe, but carrying it… hurts.” He let out a breath. “She didn’t mean for it to hurt.”

“I know, Cole,” Jane said, careful to keep the sharpness from her voice. She glanced at Cassandra, whose expression had shifted from frustrated to curious. “It’s for Lizzie,” she admitted.

Cassandra softened. “I see.”

Jane looked at the ground, not wanting to see the pity in Cassandra’s eyes. Cassandra was one of the few people Jane had spoken to about the fallout with her sister, and she didn’t want to give Cole more material.

“It’s found in places where there used to be a rift,” she continued more firmly, remembering what Harding had told her, “or where the Veil was particularly weak. The scouts said this area seemed vulnerable.” She frowned. “Though their readings have been… inconsistent.” She shook her head. “I wish Solas were here.”

 _“Ugh,”_ Sera said. “No, thanks. Can you imagine him in that… demon… witch hut? With the spirit-y things?” She lowered her voice mockingly. “Mmm…. Sensing something…!” She knocked her head once with her knuckles. “Oh, what a surprise, the Veil is thin here.”

“I think it is,” Cole agreed, which made Sera gag.

“Eugh!” Sera exclaimed. “Bad enough with this one along.”

“Sera,” Jane warned. Keeping Sera on civil terms with Cole was proving to be an onerous task. She glanced at Cassandra, who at least had stopped complaining and looked a little less irritated.

In the end, they did find some Veil Quartz, though Jane had to drag Veilfire all the way from a ruin to see it. It was the only way to tell which stones had been affected by the Fade. Once she learned that trick, she had to examine the area again. The four of them did three sweeps of the river, which even Jane had to admit was a little excessive. Still, she was pleased with the results. Once they were done with the third sweep, Cassandra raised her eyebrows pointedly, and Jane relented.

“Let’s head back to the boat,” she said.

They’d only gone a little ways when they passed a grove they hadn’t seen before. Sera glanced in, and her eyes went wide.

“Oh, frig,” she gasped. “What IS that?”

The four of them looked up to see a giant, not ten yards away. It was massive--much bigger than any Jane had ever seen before, even in the Emerald Graves. Its back was sloped with wisps of hair, and its hands looked to be the size of a person.

The four of them froze. Then, it turned. To Jane’s horror, it spotted them. It roared, hefting itself up to its full, monstrous height.

 _“Shit,”_ Sera said.

“Retreat!” Jane shouted, but the giant was already lifting a heavy rock to attack. They all ducked as the rock went flying over their heads. “Andraste preserve me,” Jane hissed, then changed her command. “Attack!”

Jane and Cassandra flanked it first, while Sera took high ground. Cole disappeared. Just as Jane made to smash its leg with the point of her shield, it lifted its hands and hit the ground.

Walls of ice shot up.

“Hang on!” Sera shouted, panicked. “Friggin… ! Is this some sort _mage_ giant?”

“So it would seem!” Cassandra called back, her brow low. She made a flattening motion with her hand, and Jane could feel the dispel in the anchor. Sera let out a string of extremely creative curses, drawing another arrow.

Cole re-appeared and sank his blades into the giant’s leg. It growled, grabbing him in its huge hand. It shook him in the air, making his limbs flap, then tossed him clean across the river. When he hit the ground, he sagged like a rag doll. Jane let out a cry. She redoubled her efforts, hacking at its leg. The blows landed, but despite losing blood, the giant kept attacking.

It searched for a new target. Sera’s high position backfired; the giant spotted her first. It reached back its hand and swatted her, hard. She fell, and Jane winced, hearing a crunch when she landed.

“Fall back!” Jane yelled. When Sera hesitated, touching one of her health vials, Jane gave her head a violent shake. They might need the potions for Cole, who was still motionless by the river. “That’s an order, Sera! FALL. BACK.”

Sera obeyed, scurrying off to some corner where she could hide. Jane and Cassandra were on their own. Cassandra let out a yell to distract it, and Jane swung her sword into its ankle when it turned. She tugged the pommel, severing the giant’s tendon. It cried out, but recovered. Spinning, it roared down at the two of them, furious.

The fight seemed never-ending. Every few minutes, the giant was able to hit them with another wave of ice. Cassandra’s dispels did next to nothing. When another rock came their way, Cassandra did not raise her shield in time, and it caught her full on the chest. She fell.

Jane swallowed, panicked. She held out her hand to make a rift, but the giant made a fist first and slammed the ground. Jane barely rolled out of the way. She clutched her sword and landed on her shield. A drop of blood splashed the ground. She touched her forehead and felt wetness.

Muttering the Chant under her breath, Jane fumbled with her belt. She found a vial of dragon’s blood and uncapped it, downing it quickly. She leapt back to her feet. She was the only one standing now. Grunting with every swing, she gulped in air and timed her blows with her breathing, just as Cullen had taught her back at Haven. The heat of the dragon’s blood boiled in her stomach. There was a surge of power deep in her muscles, warming her. The cut on her forehead burned. She launched herself at its knee, sinking her blade into its muscle. The giant finally stumbled.

With a shout, Jane pulled herself up, bashing its head with her shield. It tried to stand, but ended up collapsing. She swung the shield again and again, and it shuddered each time the edge bashed into its skull.

The last time, it did not move. The giant was dead.

Jane stood, breathing in shock for a moment. She swallowed and took a step back. Sera let out a whoop somewhere behind her. “Oi! That was _amazing.”_

On shaky legs, Jane went to Cole. She was relieved to see the steady rise and fall of his chest. It took three health potions to get him blinking, but he seemed lucid and struggled to stand.

“Wait here,” she told him. “What did you break?” she asked Sera over her shoulder.

“Just the arm,” Sera said.

“And you?” she asked Cassandra.

Cassandra winced. “A rib or two.”

“Nothing the mages can’t handle.” Jane patted Cassandra on the shoulder, then turned to Sera. “Can you help me with Cole?” Cassandra would need to keep weight off until she saw a healer.

Sera made a face, but nodded. They fed him two more potions, then slung his arms over their shoulders, helping him walk. He mumbled something about water. Jane handed him her waterskin.

Jane noticed Sera testing her broken arm’s range of motion. She raised an eyebrow. “I bet you miss Solas now. Or his barriers at least.”

“Pfft.” Sera shook her head. “Rather this than be stomping around with that git.” She grinned slyly. “And it’s worth it to see you take down giants, one-on-one. I bet you could take another in an hour or so.”

Cassandra grunted, clutching her chest. “Be that as it may, I suggest we rest for the remainder of the day.” She gave Jane a look. “And perhaps tomorrow, our focus should remain on the mission.”

Jane nodded, apologetic, as she took her waterskin back from Cole.

At least she’d gotten the Veil Quartz. She hoped Lizzie would be pleased.

 

~~~

 

The next morning, an hour after dawn, they went to the dock. The man had left them two oars in the rowboat. Cassandra and Jane took one a piece and helped the others climb aboard.

Sera wobbled a little on her way in. Cole went next. When he tried to sit on the bench beside her, she swatted his arm.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she said, swaying as the boat rocked. “Over _there_ , Creepy.”

Jane gave Sera a look as Cole complied, sitting near the front. _“Sera.”_

Sera crossed her arms. “What? I don’t want it next to me. You _know_ it’s gonna do something weird.”

Jane rolled her eyes, but chose to let that one slide. She and Cassandra threw their weapons into the back. Cassandra lifted herself in and helped Jane do the same. They used the oars to push off from the dock and began to row.

It took very little time to find a rhythm. Soon, the only sounds were the plopping of the oars as they dipped in the water, the creaking of the wooden hull, and the _caw_ ing of a bird or two overhead.

“She doesn’t like boats,” Cole said suddenly.  

Sera threw a hand in the air, groaning. _“Told_ you.”

Jane ignored her, glancing between Cassandra and Sera. She’d been in boats with both of them before. Neither woman seemed particularly bothered by water. “Who do you mean, Cole?”

Sera glared at Jane. “Don’t encourage it, you.”

His voice lowered. “Black blood on her blade. Death in the distance. Don’t look back, _don’t look back._ But the fire’s bright, and there’s reflections in the water, and--.” He stopped, confused. “She didn’t want to see.”

“Is this coming from the island?” Jane asked.

Cole seemed to struggle with his answer. Finally, he shook his head, looking at his hands. “Sera is right. The Veil _is_ thin here.”

“Hang on! I wasn’t--!” Sera screwed up her face into a grimace. _“Eugh.”_ She flopped down, trailing her hand in the water. “Can’t we bring Scout Harding next time? Nicer on the eyes, yeah? Plus, _arrows.”_

“Harding is a scout,” Cassandra said. “She has duties to perform closer to the camp.”

“Besides,” Jane said, trying to lighten the mood, “I think she’s grown _particularly_ fond of a certain professor, and would be very sorry to leave.”

Cassandra cracked a smile. “You noticed as well?”

Sera made a face. “Kenric? No. But he’s so… _stupid.”_

“He’s an acclaimed professor,” Jane reminded her.  

“Still stupid,” Sera said. “Books don’t make you _smart_ smart. Some people are, but that’s just them. Kenric’s _stupid_ smart. He’s so in it that he can’t tell which way’s up.” She held up her hand. Droplets of water fell back into the lake. “But at least he _knows_. The other kind’s worse.”

“What do you mean, the other kind?” Jane asked, trying to follow.

 _“You_ know,” Sera said, flippantly, waving her off. “Stupid smart people who think they’re _smart_ smart. They know a little about something, so they act like they know a lot about everything. Like Sol-ass. Or Vivi.”

“You should not speak of the Divine like that,” Cassandra said sharply.

“Oh really?” Sera asked, pursing her lips. _“You_ say stuff about her.”

Cassandra flushed. Sera wasn’t wrong. Cassandra had not approved of all of the Divine’s changes to the Chantry, and still seemed to struggle with the fact that she was a mage.  

“Most Holy is the Maker’s chosen,” Cassandra said firmly. “My… differences of opinion with her are… of a professional nature.”

Sera rolled her eyes. “And _my_ differences of opinion with her are of a _‘she thinks her shit doesn't stink like everyone else’s’_ nature.”

“Sera!” Jane said.

“Alright, alright. Stopping,” Sera said, holding up her hands.

They fell silent as they drew closer to the island. A sense of distress began to settle in Jane’s stomach. She could tell the others felt it, too. Sera straightened, her face gaining the pinched look she saved for anything involving spirits. Cassandra’s jaw set harder than usual. Cole’s eyes had been a little distant, but now they were fixed on shore, looking cautious.

Jane stabilized the boat at the end of a pier and tied it to the dock. She took the time to re-arm herself, hefting her shield, and then climbed out.

“Come,” she said quietly. The others followed.

The island had clearly been the sight of… _something._ Something tragic, if Jane had to guess. There were skeletal remains, mostly human, scattered throughout. Vegetation was stunted, and the air was thick with tension.

There was a cry, and then an eerie voice echoed in the air. _“I can’t… Not without….”_

Sera shuddered. “Shivers right up in there. Not living and not right.”

“It’s coming from up there,” Jane said, spotting the wooden remains of a small hut up one path.

As they climbed the hill, the voice continued, sometimes begging in Common, sometimes in Elven. It was uncanny how clear the voice sounded. Jane thought back to Crestwood, where spirits roamed freely, but even the one she’d spoken to there had not sounded so _alive_.

A strange rift surrounded the hut, one that looked like a sphere of glass. Jane approached it cautiously. Her left palm felt hot. She took a few steps closer; the nearer she got to the barrier, the more the anchor burned.

The distress in her stomach spread to her whole body, rushing through her veins. Her pulse quickened. The last time she’d sensed that sort of energy was the second Breach, with Corypheus. This… did not look or feel quite as powerful, but the tingle in her palm was familiar.

A spirit floated in the center of the barrier. It gave off a sensation of sorrow. Jane breathed in, her chest feeling tight.

“It hurts,” Cole said softly. _“She_ hurts. The wraiths knew only the pain--but _she_ knew why. Daring, dreaming into darkness. For Ameridan.”

“Ameridan?” Jane asked, her eyes widening.

“Yes,” the spirit told her, its voice solemn. “Ameridan. Beloved.”

Jane met Cassandra’s gaze. The surprise there mirrored her own.

The spirit began to speak in halting words, as if it were translating through several tongues, and told them of the woman who’d died there. The professor had been correct about one thing--Telana had been Ameridan’s lover. And she’d tried to escape after something terrible happened to Ameridan.

Something involving the Hakkonites.

Cassandra and Jane exchanged another glance, this one more worried. If the Hakkonites were somehow related to the battle Kenric described, then that meant the clan was feeding off something ancient, something most likely powerful. She wondered if the expedition had unearthed more danger than they’d realized.

When the spirit was finished, Cole told it, “You did what she wanted you to. You can let go of her now.”

“I will not fight,” the spirit assured him. “I tried to remember. For Telana.”

The barrier and spirit disappeared, and a whisper of the words hung in the air. Jane’s anchor still felt warm, but the distress in her stomach was gone. She let out a breath of relief.

 _“Weird,”_ Sera muttered.

Jane nodded in agreement. “We should do something with her remains,” she said. Her brow lowered. “Do--do the Dalish burn their dead? Or bury them?”

“Buried with trees, isn’t it?” Sera said. “Like the Emerald Graves.”

“Oh,” Jane said. She should have remembered. “Right.”

“But… she wasn’t Dalish, was she?” Sera said, doubtfully. “Not really.” Jane gave her a blank stare. Sera gestured around them with one hand. “You know. Ameridan. The battle, or whatever, with the buckle. It was before the Second Blight, yeah? That’s what the professor said. _Dalish_ came later, after all the crap with Orlais.” Cassandra and Jane raised their eyebrows, and Sera crossed her arms, scowling. _“What?_ I listen. Sometimes.”

Jane let out a huff as she approached the skeleton. “Alright,” she said, reaching out. “Trees, then. Let’s just assume it’s an older tradition and that she--”

And then it all went wrong.

Her left hand made contact with a bone. The last thing she remembered was the cold touch, and then a sharp, hot pain ripped through her body, blowing the world white.

 

~~~

 

Jane came to. She was on her back, staring through the boards of a collapsed roof at the bright blue sky. She blinked twice, the edges of her vision clearing. A very worried Cassandra appeared above her.

“Jane?”

She struggled to sit up, and Cassandra crouched to help her. The anchor pulsed angrily, and a spot on the back of her head felt tender. She raised her right hand to press it lightly. “What… happened?” she rasped.

“Nothing good,” Sera said, speaking quickly. “You touched that, and then there was…a light and a noise. Threw you right back.” She shook her head at Jane. _“Dumb._ Don’t do it again. You can’t just _touch_ things without checking first.”

“How long was I out?” Jane asked.

“Dunno,” Sera said. “Five minutes, maybe?”

Jane held out her left hand. It was sparking. _Don’t touch things without checking._ That was exactly what got her into trouble in the first place, she reflected.

Cassandra grabbed Jane’s wrist. Her eyes widened as the anchor flared wildly beneath Jane’s glove, static snapping in the air. Jane sucked in a breath at the pain.

 _“Maker,”_ Cassandra said.

“Lizzie can fix it,” Jane said. “When we get back.”

Cassandra stared at it, doubtful. “It looks… much worse than usual.” She paused, working her jaw. “Perhaps we should return to Skyhold immediately.”

“No,” Jane said firmly as she stood. “You heard the spirit. The Hakkonites are up to something.” She tensed her hand into a fist, hiding some of the sparking. “My hand can wait. Lizzie’s fixed it before.”

“Wasn’t like that, though,” Sera said. She eyed Jane’s hand nervously and didn’t get any closer.

“It was,” Jane insisted.

The anchor flared again, and she squeezed her fist tighter. Fire shot up her arm, toward her chest. Jane closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. She tried to remember if the pain had ever been this bad.

It must have been.

She opened her eyes, exhaling. Cole had appeared beside her, and she focused on keeping her thoughts neutral, her anxiety low. “No,” she said to him before he could speak. She glanced at Cassandra. “It just needs to calm down. I haven’t been using it as much.” That much was true. There were hardly any rifts left now.  

Cassandra’s mouth set in a grim line. “Very well. But should anything change--”

“It will be fine,” Jane cut her off, speaking with more certainty than she felt. She stood, picking up her shield, thankful that it hid the mark from Cassandra’s worried eyes.

 

~~~

 

Jane insisted that they continue to explore the area, despite Cassandra’s concerns. When they were attacked by another group of Hakkonites, Jane felt an unfamiliar tingle in her hand, an energy that wanted to be expelled. At first she ignored it, gripping her shield tighter and slashing at a rogue that had leapt up behind her. But the energy did not feel destructive, not like when she opened rifts. Eventually, she gave in--she let the anchor flare, taking her shield arm and pushing her palm up toward the sky. A thick barrier fell on her and her companions with a crackle of magic. Cassandra snapped her head up in shock, before she was distracted again by a mage’s attack.

The barrier was effective. With the additional protection, they easily defeated the Hakkonites, who could not land a blow. Once all three attackers were dead, Jane gave Cassandra a hopeful smile.

“See?” she said, panting, indicating her left hand. “This might even be a good change.”

Cassandra frowned, unconvinced.

They returned to the camp shortly after. At dinner, another disagreement occurred when Cassandra suggested they share what happened to the anchor with the council. A report was going out to Skyhold in the morning. Sera had lost interest, leaving to chat with a few of the scouts, and Cole made himself scarce, so Cassandra and Jane were alone.

“There’s no need to tell them,” Jane said. “I’ll have a debriefing when I get back.” She flexed her fingers. “It feels better now.”

Cassandra glanced at her hand, concerned. “May I see it? Without the glove?”

“Cassandra,” Jane said, tucking her hand away. “It’s _fine.”_ She stood and emptied her bowl of stew by the fire, rinsing it with her waterskin. When she turned around, Cassandra was still watching her with an uneasy look on her face. Jane sighed. “It’s calmer than it was before. It just needs time. Alright?”

Cassandra pursed her lips, but nodded. They bid each other goodnight.

Jane let the flap of her tent close behind her. She stood for a long moment, assuring herself that she hadn’t just lied. Finally, willing her hand to look as normal as she claimed it was, she began to strip off her glove.

Her stomach sank.

The first time she’d ever seen the mark, it had been a line, like a scar through the center of her palm. After Haven, the line was thicker and rougher, and the slit of the mark opened when it flared--almost like the eye of a newborn baby. It grew wider again after the orb was destroyed, after Corypheus had died.

Then Lizzie had fixed it.

Jane stared at her hand. The skin around the anchor was red and black, swollen as if she’d burned it. The mark itself was open again, wider like a gaping maw with wisps of static energy leaking out. The anchor flared, and the skin on her hand went sickly green, spitting out more magic.

She shut her eyes. She felt like she might vomit.

Jane quickly pulled her glove back on and made a fist. She set her jaw. She could not afford distractions. They were in the middle of a mission, one that _had_ to be successful. Not only was there whatever danger lurked behind the Hakkonites--the Inquisition has a reputation to maintain. If they failed to subdue a threat right before meeting with the Exalted Council, Ferelden would have one more arrow in their quiver.

Jane would conquer this. Then she’d go back to Skyhold, and Lizzie would _fix_ things. She would.

She had to.

Taking a shaky breath, Jane knelt by her bed roll, and began to pray.

 

~~~

 

 _Take moments of happiness where you find them_ . _The world will take the rest._

Ameridan’s words lingered in Jane’s mind the whole way back to Skyhold. The world had taken so much from him. History alone had stripped him of his identity--of his people, his beliefs. She could tell Cassandra was still processing the fact that one of the greatest heroes in Chantry and Seeker history was a Dalish mage who worshipped nine gods, besides the Maker. At least it kept her friend occupied. She hadn’t asked about Jane’s hand in days.

 _Take moments of happiness where you find them_.

She did try. Things had been simpler when Corypheus was alive. It was a terrible thought, she knew, but it was true. The need to present a united front had forced the Inquisition’s team of strange bedfellows to work together. It let her exist as a figurehead, more than a person. Whatever the world wanted to see in the Herald of Andraste, they’d seen. No one had cared about her beliefs, her morals, her values. No one except a handful of close friends.

Now, people were more wary. Her will helped shape the world. It felt more and more like a burden--but the thought of losing that power was just as difficult. She would never be truly happy, if she gave up the Inquisition. But if she stayed--if she remained more than Jane Trevelyan--she might never have a life of her own. Ameridan had never settled. Married. Raised a family. He could not, knowing that the next problem was always on the horizon.

The anchor sparked, sending a jolt of pain up her arm. She bit her lip.

Cassandra noticed this time. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Jane said automatically.

Cassandra did not look like she believed that, but she didn’t press, either. Her eyes lingered on Jane’s hand. “When we return, we will need to find Elizabeth as soon as possible.” She met Jane’s gaze.

Jane didn’t argue, looking away. She reflected a little bitterly on the fact that there had once been a time when seeking out Lizzie would not have made her anxious. A time, in fact, when she would have done so without any specific reason.

_The world will take the rest._

That, she could have told Ameridan.

 

~~~

 

They arrived a little past midnight, having pressed through the last leg of the journey despite a lack of sunlight. Jane was tired of arguing with Cassandra, and Cassandra still thought the situation was urgent. Skyhold sat in silence, most of its inhabitants sleeping.

A servant gathered their supplies and woke Dennet. The horsemaster brushed off Jane’s numerous apologies as he took the horses. He wished her a pleasant night. Then Cassandra grabbed her arm, dragging her to her chambers. She told one of the guards to go get Lizzie.

“That really isn’t necessary,” Jane said. “I’m sure she’s asleep. We can check in the morning--”

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, exasperated, and Jane sighed, counting in her head how many times Cassandra had called her that over the past few weeks. Cassandra turned back to the guard. “Find Elizabeth Trevelyan and send her up at once.”

“Cassandra, please,” Jane said as she was pulled up the stairs to her chambers. They reached her room. _“Cassandra_. There’s no need--”

“Yes,” Cassandra snapped, letting go of her arm. “There is. I admit that the threat in the Basin turned out to be--extreme, but you cannot look me in the eye and tell me that there is nothing wrong with the anchor.”

Jane opened her mouth. Cassandra waited. Jane looked away.

Cassandra stalked across the room and found matches. She began lighting several lamps, and then the fire, jabbing it angrily with the poker when it didn’t grow as fast as she wanted.

“You’re being very aggressive about this,” Jane said in a small voice.

“Yes! Because I am concerned!” Cassandra exclaimed, holding out her hand. “Is that not obvious?” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “You are my friend, and this… _mark_ on your hand may be harming you, and you… you are choosing to _ignore_ it.” Cassandra lowered her eyes. “I remember how you looked at the Conclave, when we found you. I remember what it _did_ to you. This could kill you. I am _frightened_ for you.”

Jane’s chest hurt. "Cassandra...," she began.

Then she heard the lower door open. She closed her eyes, steeling herself. Taking a deep breath, she walked to her desk and sat, trying to look as professional as possible. Cassandra stood behind her. She placed a hand on Jane’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly, as if to apologize, before stepping back.

“Good evening,” Jane said when Lizzie appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Good morning, I think,” Lizzie said, peering at the window. She looked more solemn than usual, to Jane’s eye, but perhaps it was because she’d just woken. The state of her hair certainly attested to that. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in Jane and Cassandra’s travelling clothes. “You just arrived.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said.

Lizzie approached the desk and sighed, tiredly. “Then Cullen must have told you.”

Jane paused. She tossed Cassandra a confused glance over her shoulder. “Told me what?” she asked her sister.

Lizzie looked between Cassandra and Jane before reading Jane’s face intently. Her eyes became sad. “Oh. You don’t know.” Her throat bobbed. She sat in the chair across the way, her back straight as steel and looked at her hands.  “Father… is ill.”

Jane’s blood chilled. “How ill?”

“He collapsed,” Lizzie said. “Mama found him unconscious in the garden. He’s still alive, and awake now.” She took a breath. “But the healers say he won't recover. They’re not sure how much longer he has.” She met Jane’s gaze with some difficulty. “He’s dying, Jane.”

Jane sat back, her lips parted.

“That is grave news,” Cassandra said. “I am very sorry. For both of you.”

“Thank you,” Lizzie replied, with the mechanical edge of someone who was in the habit of receiving condolences. To Jane, she said, “Josephine has arranged for us to visit Longbourn before we go to Halamshiral. But she can't convince the Exalted Council to postpone. The timing--is tight. We have to leave tomorrow.” She glanced to the side. “I’m so sorry.”

Jane’s mind spun. “There must be something we can do. The Inquisition healers. We could--”

Lizzie shook her head. “The Divine already sent hers.”

Jane sat speechless, staring at the desk. Then she covered her face with her hands, breathing deep. She could not weep now, not with Cassandra right there. The two of them gave her a moment. When she recovered, she pulled herself together. “I can’t believe it,” she told her sister.

“I know,” Lizzie said. A thought crossed her face, and she studied Jane, curious. “But… if you didn’t know, why did you send for me?”

Jane squeezed her eyes shut. Suddenly, telling Lizzie what had happened seemed so much harder. “Oh. There was an incident. In the Basin.” She chewed her lip. “Something happened to the anchor.”

“What do you mean?”

Jane hesitated. “It can create barriers now,” she started with.

Lizzie’s eyes widened, and Jane looked away. Of course her sister had understood immediately. “It changed,” Lizzie said, sharply. “What does it look like? Is it still stable?”

Jane winced. She held up her left hand and began to remove her glove. As her palm came into sight, Lizzie let out a quiet gasp. Jane could feel Cassandra step closer.

Once the glove was fully removed, Lizzie leaned forward, grabbing Jane’s hand with her own. She used her thumbs to trace the lines of the anchor, and Jane flinched at the contact. Lizzie’s irises went black as she stared. Her fingers became painfully tight. Her eyes faded into normal colors, and she looked up at Jane with too much sorrow.

“Jane,” she whispered. “What did you _do?”_

“I don’t know,” Jane said.

Cassandra shifted forward. “What is wrong with it?”

Lizzie took a deep breath. “The anchor…. Solas warned us this could happen, that there were… dormant abilities that could awaken. He said it was fine, as long as it stayed stable. But it isn’t stable.” She paused, her voice breaking. “It’s... consuming her.”

“Consuming her?” Cassandra asked sharply. “Are you sure?”

Lizzie nodded. “I can see it through the Veil,” she admitted quietly. Cassandra narrowed her eyes, but Lizzie didn’t notice, or didn't care. “It used to look like a braid. It drew some sort of energy from the Fade, and it twisted that energy together, into a row of lines.” She pressed her fingers into Jane's palm again. “Every time Jane came in contact with the orb, the braid looked… looser. Whenever Solas fixed it, it was like he tightened the braid. It took me a while, but I figured out how to do that, too.” She shook her head. “But now… it’s completely undone. It’s not even--.” She brushed Jane's palm. “It’s not even rows. It's everywhere. And some of the power, it’s drawing _from Jane.”_

There was a long pause. “Will it… kill her?” Cassandra asked.

“I don’t know.”

Jane’s stomach flipped. She let her fingers curl slightly. “Can you fix it?”

Lizzie looked down. “I don’t think so. I’ll do what I can. I might be able to slow it down.” As she spoke, she tried, pushing a wave of magic into Jane's hand.

Cassandra walked around to the middle of the desk, looking at the anchor and Lizzie's grip on it. “If Leliana’s people found Solas, would _he_ be able to help?”

Lizzie did not look up, but Jane felt her fingers tense. The wave of magic stuttered. “Possibly,” she granted, after a beat.

Cassandra turned to look at Jane. “We need to tell the council.”

Jane thought of Cullen, and panic went through her. “Absolutely not.”

“We cannot hide this from them,” Cassandra insisted. “They _will_ notice.”

Jane squeezed her eyes shut. “They won't. Not if I’m leaving for Longbourn tomorrow.”

“We cannot _solve_ this by ignoring it,” Cassandra said.

“Cassandra,” Jane interjected, standing. She gave Cassandra a flat stare. “My father may be on his deathbed. Please. At least give me time to go home.” Cassandra did not speak, so Jane pressed again. “I’ll be with my sister. She can study it in the meantime. It’s not like anyone on the council is a mage.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned. She bowed her head, sighing. “I think it is a mistake,” she warned, the fight gone from her voice. “But I cannot stop you.”

“Your objection is noted,” Jane said.

Cassandra shook her head, frustrated. She glanced back up. “Very well. You will be traveling tomorrow,” she said. “We should all get some sleep. But when you’ve returned to Skyhold, we will--”

“We’re heading straight to the Exalted Council,” Lizzie interjected.

“Fine,” Cassandra said. “In Halamshiral, then. We _will_ discuss how to handle this.” Her eyes turned sympathetic. “And truly, I am most sorry to hear about your father. He is… a good man. I am honored to have known him.” Jane felt a pang, but could not respond. Cassandra left.

Lizzie rubbed a hand over her face as Cassandra’s footsteps descended. “I should go as well.”

Jane’s heart battled in her chest. She clenched her fist. She did not want to take advantage of the sorrow she’d seen in Lizzie’s eyes, but the thought of being alone with that _thing_ on her hand made her sick.

 _Cullen,_ she thought, but the panic surged and she shut that train of thought down. He’d known her as Herald, first. As Inquisitor. She could not be strong like that now. But her sister--

“Lizzie,” she said, her voice sounding thick. Her sister glanced back. “Will you stay?” Lizzie’s eyes went sad again. Jane took an earnest step forward. “Just for the night. Like you used to.”

Lizzie hesitated. “Jane….”

Jane’s heart sank. It had been too much to ask. “Never mind. I should not have asked,” she said in a shaky voice, dropping to the corner of her bed. “I just… I’m scared. I feel so _helpless.”_

 _“Stop,”_ Lizzie said, relenting, crossing to the bed. She sat beside Jane and pulled her into a hug. “I… I can't….” She dropped her head. “I can’t be _there_ for you anymore, not always. Not like how... it used to be.”

Jane nodded, blinking.

Lizzie let out a sharp breath. “But you’re my sister, and I love you. I’m not going to make you do this alone.” Whether _this_ was the anchor, or their father’s illness, or just for the night, Jane did not know. But just hearing the words made her feel better. Lizzie squeezed her shoulder, pulling back. “And you’re not helpless. You’re the least helpless person I know.”

Jane shook her head.

Lizzie misunderstood her objection. “It's true.”

Jane was silent, still biting back tears. She wondered if there was anyone left who knew how secretly weak she was. She wanted to tell Lizzie that she _acted_ strong because she had to be, because _Inquisitor Trevelyan_ had to be strong, and not because she _was_ strong--that she didn't know how to face down enemies she couldn't even see, ones that she couldn’t crush or intimidate or sway-- but her throat was too tight and her heart, too heavy.

Lizzie embraced her again. In that moment, despite her sorrow and disappointment, Jane could only feel grateful and exhausted and terrified. She clung to the threads of hope that were still stitched into her heart--that her father could be fine, that her hand could be fixed, that her sister could support her again. And as Lizzie held her, she forced herself to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, that giant fight actually happened when I was playing as Jane. Her party was dead within like a minute and a half and she'd run out of health potions. She solo'd it, like a boss. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. a heavy price

****When Jane woke in the morning, Lizzie was gone. She knew she should not be too surprised, and fought against a wave of disappointment. It was kind of her sister to stay, however long she did--until she’d fallen asleep, Jane suspected.

She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin. There were things to be done--she had to pack and bathe before she and her sisters left for Longbourn--but she was reluctant to leave the comfort of her bed. Once she did, reality would sink in. The world would solidify around her.

She’d be travelling home to see her father for what might be the last time.

Her back ached from poor sleep. Questions ran through her mind. When would they leave? Was she expected to speak with the council first? She shivered, hoping not. Between the truth about Ameridan and the situation with her father, acting like _the Inquisitor_ felt… very far away. And then there was Cullen. Part of her desperately wanted to see him before she left; the other part couldn’t possibly face him.

She slid out of bed with a sigh. The mark on her hand twinged as she stood. Whatever Lizzie had done had helped, but the magic was fading. Jane rinsed her face, trying to ignore it. As she pulled on her boots, light flared from her palm, startling her. She turned to the desk, where she’d placed her brown gloves the night before.

There were no gloves. Her brow lowered. She checked the floor beneath the desk, in case they’d fallen. Nothing was there.

 _Curious,_ she thought as she cracked open her chest to grab another pair. It looked nearly half empty. She sifted through the contents.

All her gloves were gone.  

That was a problem. Normally she would just forgo them, but with her mark so erratic, she needed something to cover her hand. She tore through piles of clothes, starting to feel panicked. Other things were missing, too--her uniform, her vests. Some of her leggings.

Jane gripped the sides of the chest, trying to stay calm. The gloves for her armor were downstairs, with the Quartermaster, but it would look odd if she wore them while going around Skyhold. If anyone saw her--if _Cullen_ saw her--

She heard footsteps. Someone was coming. Frantically, she looked around, but there was no time. She faced the stairwell, shoving her hand behind her back, and hoped she’d be able to get rid of whoever it was quickly.

Lizzie appeared. Jane breathed out.

“Oh!” Lizzie exclaimed. “You’re up.”

“Yes,” Jane said, relaxing her arm.

Lizzie crossed the room. “I’m sorry I left without waking you. But you looked exhausted. And I had an idea.” She hesitated, then held out Jane’s brown gloves. “The palms are reinforced with gurgut webbing. It’ll hide the mark better, when it….” She made a motion with her left hand. “You know.”

“Oh,” Jane said softly, her eyes widening. “That’s perfect.” She tugged on the gloves and held up her hand, marvelling. She realized then why the drawer was empty and glanced at her sister. “You didn’t do _all_ my gloves, did you?”

“There were only eleven pairs,” Lizzie said. “You’ll need them for the journey.”

“How long did it take you?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Not long.”

Jane suspected otherwise. She bit her lip. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“Yes, well,” Lizzie said, fidgeting with her sleeve. “It was based on an idea you had once.” A small smile formed on her lips, one that did not quite reach her tired eyes. “You’re not the only one with a scar you want to hide.”

Jane examined the gloves again. She didn't know if she was allowed to hug her sister, and decided against trying. “Where did you put the other pairs?”

“Josephine packed a trunk for you. It’s already down at the stables.” Lizzie paused. “We didn’t expect you last night. Leliana’s scouts thought you’d make camp before scaling the summit, and they knew we’d be in a rush to leave. As it is, we’re only spending four days at Longbourn.”

Jane glanced at her desk to see a stack of unread letters. Briefly, she wondered if she should bring them. “Does the council expect me to meet with them before we leave?”

“I’m not sure. No one said anything to me.”

Of course. Lizzie was no longer kept in the loop about such things. She must have been told about the trip to Longbourn because she was going as well. There was an awkward silence. It did not help that Jane was uncertain where she stood with her sister. _I won’t make you do this alone,_ Lizzie had said the night before, but she’d also been clear that things could not be like before.  

“Are you planning on telling Kitty?” Lizzie asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Jane kept her eyes averted. “No.”

“Then maybe I should heal your hand a little,” Lizzie suggested. “We’ll all be sharing a carriage. I won’t be able to do much on the road.”

Jane nodded. It was a good thought. She removed the glove and Lizzie grasped her hand. A cool healing spell sunk into her skin. Jane relaxed into the magic. After a moment, the healing stopped, and Jane could feel Lizzie’s magic shift. She was trying to control the anchor, Jane realized--to stabilize it as she once had. Her brows knitted and she pushed harder.

A sharp knock sounded from below. Jane and Lizzie exchanged a quick look of alarm. Jane broke away, tugging her glove back onto her hand.

“Come in!” she said as soon as it was in place.

Heavier footsteps climbed the stairs. Jane recognized the clink of boots this time. She only had a moment to prepare herself before Cullen came into view, dressed in his armor. She sucked in a breath.

He met her eye, then paused as he spotted her sister, raising an eyebrow. He clearly had not expected to see her.

“Elizabeth,” he said.

“Cullen,” Lizzie said with a nod.

He recovered quickly, returning the gesture. “Good morning,” he said. His eyes darted to Jane. There was a question in them. “I apologize for intruding so early. Cassandra tells me you returned last night?”

“Yes,” Jane managed. “Quite late. I… didn’t want to wake you.” She looked away, hoping he couldn’t see the lie. “Lizzie told me about Father.”

“Of course,” he said more gently. “I’m so sorry, Jane.” He approached and placed a hand on her arm. It was clear he’d intended to embrace her next, but she flinched back, making him freeze.

“Thank you,” Jane said. She straightened, adopting the firm, neutral tone she usually saved for the war room and diplomatic negotiations. “Will the council require anything from me before I leave for Longbourn?”

“No,” Cullen said, sounding confused. “We wouldn’t presume--.” He paused. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” He huffed at his own choice of words. “Maker’s breath, of course you’re not alright, but--. I… I _am_ here for you, Jane. If you need anything.” She didn’t reply immediately, so he pressed on. “If you’d like me to come to Longbourn with you--”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jane interrupted, glancing at him. His face was etched with concern. She could not help but soften. “I appreciate it, Cullen. Truly. But… I should be with my family now.”

He blinked, looking hurt, and she realized she’d accidentally landed a blow. She clasped her hands hard behind her back, squaring her shoulders.

“If you would,” she said stiffly, “tell Josephine and Leliana that I’ll hold off on the debriefing on the Frostback Basin until after Halamshiral.”

Cullen glanced at Lizzie, who was staring at the ground. Jane could tell that their behavior troubled him, but he apparently did not want to push things. 

“As you wish, Inquisitor,” he said, finally slipping into his own title.

She walked toward her desk. “I shall see you at the Winter Palace,” she said without looking up. Cullen did not answer. There was a beat, and then she heard the rustle of a retreat, his boots on the stairs. When the door shut below, she placed both hands on her desk and slumped forward.

“You should tell him,” Lizzie said softly.

“I can’t,” Jane said. “He’ll assume the worst.”

“He deserves to know.”

Jane shook her head. “There might be nothing _to_ know. And to make him go through all that, when I might not even be--”

The word caught in her throat. It was impossible to explain, the way her whole being shuddered at the thought of burdening him. Before her battle with Corypheus, he’d tried to hide the extent of the pain she’d put him through, but she could see his sleepless nights and worsened headaches. She had ended up comforting him, something she was not sure she could do just yet.

She had to be strong a little longer.

She took a deep breath and straightened. “We should have breakfast.”

Lizzie paused. “I already ate,” she said, examining the edge of her sleeve.

Jane threw her a frown, but didn't push it.  _“I_ should eat, then,” she said. “I’ll meet you by the stables in an hour?”

Lizzie nodded. “I’ll be there.”

 

~~~

 

The journey to Longbourn was quiet and grim. The sisters stayed at inns, sharing one room between the three of them. That would not have been possible two years earlier, when it had been rare for people to visit the Frostbacks. But commerce in Skyhold  now required an active trade route, and active trade routes required inns.

Truth be told, Jane would have preferred to travel by horse and sleep in tents, but at least there was a level of anonymity in travelling by carriage. Lizzie’s gloves and the haze of Kitty’s grief kept her younger sister from noticing anything unusual about the mark. Whenever Kitty was distracted or asleep, or when she briefly left the room, Lizzie would take Jane’s hand and press a healing spell into it. They could not examine it, however. To Jane, it felt more uncomfortable than painful, but she ignored it the best she could.

They switched drivers in Edgehall. The last leg of the journey went smoothly; they arrived as expected. Lydia was waiting outside the house, her arms crossed and her face uncharacteristically serious. Jane got the impression she’d been standing there for some time. As soon as the carriage stopped, she ran toward them.

“Jane! Kitty, Lizzie! Oh, thank the Maker you’ve all come.”

“Lydia,” Jane said, stepping down. Her youngest sister embraced her, sniffing noisily. Jane found herself tearing up a little, too, and had to breathe deeply. Lydia released her to hug Kitty, then Lizzie. Jane dabbed away her unshed tears.

“Where’s Mama?” Jane asked when she’d recovered herself.

“Upstairs,” Lydia said. She looked pale with red rings around her eyes. “She says she has headaches and refuses to come down. She’s been up there for nearly a week. Maker, what a mess. _Nothing_ I do seems to console her. And with Father ill, there’s no one to run the estate! I don’t know how to answer all these _letters_ , or what to purchase for the pantry, or _anything_ about the village. Father tries to help me when he’s able to focus. But I know I shouldn’t bother him too much.” She peered at Jane, her eyes wide. “You’ll talk to her, won’t you, Jane? You _always_ know how to handle her.”

“I’ll try,” Jane said, giving Lydia’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Can we see Father first?” Lizzie asked.  

Lydia shook her head. “Not until tomorrow. He’s better in the mornings. He did specifically ask to see _you_ , Lizzie,” she added.

Jane was not surprised. While Lady Trevelyan had doted on Jane as a child, Lord Trevelyan had always been closer to Lizzie. She’d been his favorite, before she went to the Circle.

“How is he?” Jane asked.

Lydia twisted her fingers, frowning. “There are… good days and bad days. He has chest pains, and can’t breathe properly. He gets tired very easily.” She took Jane by the arm, tugging her. “But come on. We should tell Mama you’re all here.”

Jane saw Lizzie’s mouth grow tight. Her sister and mother had not seen each other since they’d had a spectacular argument two years earlier; Lizzie had declined to join Kitty and Jane on their visits home, and Lady Trevelyan did not visit Skyhold. Jane just hoped that their common love for Lord Trevelyan would prevent them from clashing too badly.

“She’s in her and Father’s room?” Kitty asked.

“Yes,” Lydia said.

Kitty tilted her head, confused. “Then where’s Father?”

“We turned the library into a sickroom,” Lydia explained. “Cook and Doris couldn’t get him up the stairs.” Cook’s son had since married and left them.

“You said she’s been up there a week,” Jane said. “Doesn’t she ever visit Father?”

“Not since she started complaining about headaches,” Lydia said. She hesitated before adding, “And it’s not like Father asks for her.”

Jane tried not to feel disappointed. It was expected, really. As a child, she’d wished that her mother and father’s marriage was more like the ones she saw in stories or her friends’ homes. Her mother had never been a strong woman, but the more sensitive Lady Trevelyan became, the more insensitive her father acted. Eventually, the two of them were trapped in a marriage with hardly any love or respect. In a small, ignoble corner of her heart, Jane knew that she pitied them both.

As they passed by Kitty’s room, Lydia stopped short, cursing under her breath. “Oh, I forgot to open the _curtains,”_ she groaned. “Maker’s breath. I’m sorry. Your rooms will be dusty!”

“It’s fine,” Jane assured her, pulling her arm. “We’ll figure it out later. Just take us to Mama.”

Lydia dutifully brought them down to the end of the hall. “Mama?” she asked, knocking lightly on the open door to the master bedroom. “Jane’s here.”

Lady Trevelyan was lying in her bed, a wet cloth on her forehead. She sat up excitedly, the cloth falling to her lap. “Jane! I knew that you would come,” she said, holding open her arms. Jane hugged her mother, who then pulled back and cupped her chin, squinting. "My dear girl! You _are_ looking pale. And Maker, but all this fighting is very bad for your figure.” Her mother moved on. “Kitty, darling!” she said, embracing her next. She spotted Lizzie, who hung back in the doorway. Pointedly, she pursed her lips and turned back to Jane. “Oh, girls,” she said sadly, folding the wet cloth and placing it to the side. “I’ve been _so_ unwell. I don’t think I can bear it much longer.”

“Well, you know I always cure you,” Jane said, sitting on the bed. “I’ll have Cook send up some tea once we get settled. Is Mary coming?”

“No,” Lady Trevelyan said, scowling. She clucked her tongue. “Can you believe it? Her own father is deathly ill and _she_ claims she cannot come. _Selfish_ girl.”

“Don’t say that, Mama!” exclaimed Lydia. She turned to Jane. “Mary couldn’t get leave to come down from Weisshaupt.”

“Couldn’t get leave,” Lady Trevelyan complained. “A _true_ daughter would have deserted.” She scoffed. “Or at _least_ written more than a short note about praying for her father’s health. Not a word about _my_ health, mind you. No one in this house has ever cared about my feelings.”

“Of course we do, Mama,” Jane said gently, while Lydia rolled her eyes, dropping to sit beside her. “Mary would certainly have come if she could.”

Lady Trevelyan sighed. “Well, I’m sure your father is _very_ disappointed. No consideration at all!”

“What do the healers say?” Kitty asked.

 _“They_ don’t believe me,” Lady Trevelyan said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve asked for a stronger potion a dozen times--I’ve described the _very specific_ pulsing in my temples, even--but only the apothecary is the slightest bit sympathetic to my pain. In fact, just yesterday, I told him--”

“Mama,” Lizzie said in a cool tone. Jane looked back to see that she’d leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “I believe Kitty was asking what the healers say about _Father.”_

Lady Trevelyan’s lips twisted bitterly. “I was going to mention _that_. Eventually. Of course. It is not easy to talk about, you know. He is _my_ husband.” But then her face faded into something sorrowful and she dropped her gaze to her lap. “They--they say it’s his heart,” she said weakly. “And that he does not have long. A few weeks, at most.”

A lump formed in Jane’s throat. So it was true. Her father was dying.

Lady Trevelyan began again after a beat, gaining energy as she spoke. “The apothecary thinks he could live up to six months, with the aid of a potion. _That_ would give us time to find a better solution. But imagine! What does your father say? He won’t take it.”

“What do you mean, he won’t take it?” Kitty asked.

“He refuses!” her mother exclaimed. “Says it’s his time, and who is an old man like him to argue with the Maker? Maybe _you_ can talk some sense into him, Lizzie,” she continued, her tone turning sour. “Maker knows why, but he listens to you. He certainly won’t listen to me.”

Lydia broke in. “The potion has side effects,” she explained to her sisters. “It would put him in a lot of pain, and it might not even work. He says he’s not willing to risk it just to live a few extra months.”

Jane exhaled, a pool of emotion welling in her. “Poor Father.”

“Poor Father!” Lady Trevelyan exclaimed, raising her eyebrows. “Poor us, I should say! Who will protect me and Lydia now? What with the bandits, and the soldiers, and with the threat of Orlais invading.” Her tone turned sharp. _“His_ suffering’s almost over; _ours_ has just begun.”

“How can you _say_ that?” Lizzie snapped, horrified.

“Orlais won’t invade,” Jane assured her mother quickly, shooting Lizzie a pleading look before things could escalate. Lizzie’s lips thinned and she looked away. “Those are just rumors. I promise.”

Lady Trevelyan frowned. “Well! Then the bandits will get us. I’m _sure_ of it.”

Jane noticed that Lizzie’s shoulders were still dangerously tense. She changed the subject. “Won’t you come downstairs for dinner, Mama? We brought plums from Skyhold. I can have Cook stew them for you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Jane dear,” Lady Trevelyan said, touching her temples. _“Today_ was particularly bad. Too much humidity.” She dropped her hand. “I suppose that means you’ll abandon me entirely. The four of you will clear out the pantry and have a grand old time together--”

“A grand old time--!” Lizzie cried.

Jane gave up on appeasing things between them. “Lizzie, please,” she said as softly as she could manage. “Maybe you and I should just talk later.”

Lizzie’s eyes darted between Jane and their mother. She let out a rough breath. “Fine,” she said, throwing a hand in the air as she left the room. A moment later, a door slammed down the hallway.

Lady Trevelyan puffed. “Where she gets that dramatic streak from…!” she muttered to herself.

Jane turned back. “I’ll eat with you, Mama. We just need to organize a few things first, alright?” She glanced at her sisters. “Kitty, will you sit with her while I help Lydia get the house in order?”

Kitty agreed, mercifully. Lydia and Jane left while Lady Trevelyan began talking about the apothecary’s list of cures for a headache, and why none of them worked for her. Jane paused in the hallway outside her own room, wishing she could follow Lizzie's lead. She felt like throwing herself into a pillow and weeping until she ran out of tears.

But instead she forced herself to catch up to Lydia. They spoke to Cook and Doris about what was needed around the estate. Fortunately, the two servants had taken over most of the duties that Lydia had neglected. The only concern was whether they had enough food, given the number of unexpected visitors they’d be receiving. Besides the three Trevelyan sisters, their cousin Bertram was expected to arrive the following week with his family, and the stocks were not kept as they once were.

As Jane was reviewing the contents of the pantry, she noticed the door to the garden was off one of its hinges. She wiggled it, testing whether she’d be able to put it back.

“Oh, leave that,” Lydia said as she entered, carrying a sack of oats. “It’s missing a piece, but I can fix it later. Father had planned to do it, before--. Well.” She dropped the sack in a corner. She wiped her forehead with her wrist. “He really is _such_ a stubborn man. Cullen volunteered to fix it when _he_ was here, but Father said he’d rather do it himself. Now look where we are.”

Jane froze. “Cullen?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lydia said lightly.

Jane stared at her. “When was _Cullen_ here?”

“A few weeks ago. Before Father fell. Only--oh!” Lydia placed her hand over her mouth. “Maker’s breath! I wasn’t meant to say anything! It was supposed to be a secret!”

Jane was dumbfounded. Why would Cullen come to Longbourn, and not tell her? 

With a start, one explanation occurred to her. 

But _that_ meant--

Jane shook her head. She had no time to dwell on the implications. “Then we should drop the subject at once,” she said briskly once she recovered. She gave the broken door a hard shove to force it closed. “Come, let’s get back to the kitchen.”

 

~~~

 

True to her word, Jane ate dinner upstairs with her mother. At first Lady Trevelyan insisted she had no appetite, but Jane persuaded her to try some broth. Once finished, Lady Trevelyan acknowledged that she could do with a proper meal. She ended up with two cuts of ham, a cup jellied berries, mashed rabbit liver on toasted bread, and some of the sweet stewed plums.

After they’d finished eating, Lady Trevelyan claimed she was not at all tired. She began to ask Jane about Skyhold, but before the conversation went very far, she fell asleep. Jane tucked her in and went downstairs. Lizzie was alone in the parlor. She'd clearly been crying, though now she was calm and curled up on one of the couches, reading a small book of poetry. She glanced up as Jane entered.

“Where are Kitty and Lydia?” Jane asked.

“At dinner,” Lizzie replied.

“Have _you_ eaten?”

She looked down at her book and paused before answering. “A little.”

“Lizzie--,” Jane began.

“I should check the anchor,” Lizzie cut in, standing. She closed her book and put it to the side. “Not here, though. Someone could come in. Let’s go to Father’s bench.”

Jane sighed. She did not press the issue of food. Given how reluctant she was to let Lizzie even see her hand, she was in no position to judge. She was never sure she had the right to express concern over her sister’s health, anyway.

“I don’t know how you stand it,” Lizzie said as they walked across the lawn. “Father and you are _actually ill_ , and Mama just… makes it all about her. Again.”

Jane’s hand clenched. “She doesn’t know about… me,” she said. “And I _do_ think she has headaches. Just because Father’s sick doesn’t mean she can’t be unwell, too.”

Lizzie made a dismissive noise. “Of course. It’s just a coincidence that these headaches always happen when something’s happening to someone else.”

“She’s not a strong woman, Lizzie,” Jane said. “If she gives herself headaches when she’s upset, that does not make them any less real, does it?”

Lizzie gave her a look, but didn’t argue the point.

When they reached the river, they sat on the bench their father had built. Jane removed her glove and stretched out her left hand. Lizzie clasped it in hers. They both grew hushed. Perhaps it was the darkness, but the mark seemed to have grown. A dot of green light reflected in the river, glittering as the current moved. Lizzie’s eyes went dark and strange.

She breathed out. “It’s worse,” she confirmed, her voice heavy.

Dread pooled in Jane’s stomach. “How much worse?”

“I don’t know. Just… worse.” Lizzie shook her head. She sounded crushed. “It’s pulling more energy from you than before.”

“What does that mean?” Jane asked.

Lizzie pursed her lips. “I don’t know," she said again. 

“You couldn’t really tend to it for a few days. Do you think that’s why?”

There was a beat. “It’s possible.” Lizzie’s fingers were becoming painfully tight, and Jane couldn’t help but tense when the pressure became painful. Lizzie noticed. She loosened her fingers. “Maker. I’m sorry. I just--I want to help, but I don’t know how.” She swallowed. “I don’t understand what’s happening. I can’t _fix_ it.”

“You fixed it once before,” Jane pointed out.

“After months of research!” Lizzie exclaimed angrily, startling Jane. “After _months,_ I could _mimic_ what Solas did. And even then, it was only because I watched him. I never saw it like this. He never--!” She screwed up her face, squeezing her eyes shut. “Maker, _he’s_ the one who could control it. Not me. Why didn’t he show me?”

Jane had no answer for her.

Eventually, Lizzie shook her head. Her body deflated, her tense, thin frame crumbling in defeat. She began working her magic over Jane’s hand. Jane felt some of the pressure and pain melt away as the light from the anchor faded.

But not all of it.

Lizzie grit her teeth, pushing harder. The tugging in Jane’s palm got more intense, the sensation growing taut. Then the magic stopped. Lizzie took a shuddering breath.

Jane flexed her hand. “It feels a little better,” she offered.  

Lizzie didn’t reply. Her shoulders began shaking. Jane realized she was crying. Hesitantly, she placed her right hand over Lizzie’s fingers, where they held the anchor. When she squeezed, Lizzie dropped her head forward, no longer trying to hide her tears. “I don’t know what to do.” She choked on a breath. “Between Father, and you, and…. It’s too much, Jane. I feel like such a fool.”

“Lizzie,” Jane said softly. She didn’t know what else to say.

“I _am_ a fool. I thought I was protecting you.” Lizzie’s tone was low and flat. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have let things get so bad.”

“You’re doing everything you can,” Jane said.

“Not just the anchor,” Lizzie said. “With us.” Jane went still. “I was so mad about Vivienne. I still am, really. But… anger fades. I _could_ have forgiven you, if I let myself.” She breathed in. “I didn’t. I kept avoiding you instead. I thought it was for the best--keeping some distance between us.” Her voice broke. “I thought I would be _fine_ , knowing you were happy and... well, happy. I never thought I’d…. I don’t want to _lose_ you.”

“You haven’t, Lizzie,” Jane insisted. “You won’t.”

Lizzie began to sob. Jane’s chest felt tight. She dragged her sister into a hug, stroking her hair. Lizzie wept into Jane’s shoulder while Jane held back tears of her own, from both sorrow and relief. The past week had been trying, but if there was anything that could make the weight on her shoulders bearable, it was knowing she had Lizzie by her side.

“I pushed you away,” Lizzie said as her tears quieted.

“Because I hurt you,” Jane told her. “You had to protect yourself. I always understood that.”

Lizzie pulled back and brushed at her cheeks. “It wasn’t just about Vivienne,” she said. “Well--it was, but not the way you think.” She sounded firmer, but she still kept her head low. She hadn’t looked up since she’d started crying. “I thought keeping us apart would make it easier.”

Jane paused, parsing that sentence. “Make what easier?” she asked, confused.

Lizzie stared at her hands. She sighed, as if coming to a decision. “I was… planning to run away,” she admitted slowly.

Jane’s eyes widened in shock.

“I didn’t--,” Lizzie began. She trailed off.

“You didn’t want to stay with the Inquisition,” Jane finished for her, half statement, half question.

“It wasn’t a matter of _want,”_ Lizzie said. “I wasn’t safe. I’m _not_ safe. None of the Inquisition mages are.” Her tone darkened. “Vivienne will do it, somehow. Mark my words. She’ll get the mages you kept into Circles.”

“I would never let her take _you.”_

“No. Even if that’s true, how am I supposed to look at my students if I accept that?” she asked. “They rely on me now. They’d all be carted away. I know how Circles work, Jane. Some of them wouldn’t survive.”

“Vivienne wouldn't--”

“Vivienne _does,”_ Lizzie said. 

Jane was resolute. “I wouldn’t let her do that to them.”

Lizzie glanced up. Her eyes glinted in the moonlight. “I think you would. Not intentionally, but you would.” She paused. “You’ve been talking about disbanding the Inquisition, or putting us under Celene, haven’t you? Cullen told me about it.”

Jane blinked. “I…. We’re trying to make sure that doesn’t happen, but--” she began to explain.

Lizzie cut her off with a shake of her head. “But you discussed both options." Jane nodded. "Once--just once--at any point, did you question what would happen to the mages?”

Jane's lips still parted.

“Do you think Celene would let us stay organized, if she took control? That she’d have Gaspard put us in his army? Or that Vivienne would be fine with us walking away, unshackled, if you disbanded?”

“Oh.” Shame settled in Jane’s chest. “Well, I--. That’s… that’s another good reason why neither should be an option--”

“That’s not the point,” Lizzie said sharply. “The point is that the four people running your Inquisition sat down and debated the strengths and weaknesses of two options for _several hours,_ and the safety of the Inquisition mages did not come up once. Am I correct?"

Jane looked away. “Yes,” she said, barely audible.

Lizzie leaned back a little, as if resting her case. She did not even look disappointed--just resigned. “And that’s why I was going to run away. Vivienne wants more control. We aren't a priority. Someday, she’s going to outplay you.” Her expression softened as her eyes fell back to the mark. “But I thought the anchor was stable. I wouldn’t have planned on leaving if I knew.”

Jane looked at her hand. The shame grew thicker. Suddenly, she realized why her sister objected so strongly to Divine Victoria. By putting Most Holy in power, Jane had indirectly put her sister in more danger.

“You should have told me,” she said.

Lizzie swallowed. “I thought it would be easier this way.”

“Easier? If I didn’t know where you went?” Jane asked, incredulous. “If you just disappeared one morning? If I wasn’t even sure whether you were dead or alive? That would not be easier. Of course it wouldn’t.” She bit her lip. “I could have helped you. I would have made sure you’d be safe.”

Lizzie looked at the river, a wounded look in her eyes. “Maybe I didn’t trust you to let me go,” she admitted.

Jane closed her eyes. Those words hurt far worse than the anchor ever had, because they hit true. A breeze ruffled the trees around them. She had to give herself a moment before she trusted herself to speak.

“If you give me another chance,” she said thickly, looking up, “I promise I’ll do better. Maker, I don’t want to lose you, either. I miss you. _Us._ If you just _talk_ to me, I can help you this time.” Lizzie was silent, so Jane pressed on. “Not just you. All of you. I can-- _we_ can figure something out for the mages.” Lizzie was fidgeting with her sleeve. “Please, Lizzie. Trust me.”

She weighed Jane’s sincerity. “You promise?” she asked.

“I promise,” Jane said. “I told you I’d protect you. I meant that.”

Lizzie’s eyes were tearing again. She took in a breath and hugged Jane. “Thank you,” she whispered. After a moment, she pulled away. She took Jane’s left hand again, studying it with a frown.

Jane followed her gaze, the shame lingering. She didn’t want this reconciliation to just be about the mark, but she was in no place to ask more of her sister. “I swear, it _is_ feeling better. I think you helped it. I know we'll fix it.”

Lizzie looked uncertain. “Maybe my magic alone isn’t strong enough,” she thought out loud. “I can try working with Cillian at the same time.” She glanced up. “Would that be okay? Telling Cillian?”

“Yes,” Jane said. The thought of more people knowing bothered her, but she trusted the elf to be discreet.

“Then I’ll write him tomorrow and ask him to meet us in Halamshiral,” Lizzie decided. She stood, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve one more time. “Come on. We should go back before they come looking for us.”

Jane agreed, pulling her glove back on. As they headed toward the house, they linked arms, which made Jane feel more hopeful than she had in weeks. Both were quiet and thoughtful. Jane couldn’t read her sister’s mind; her own was on her promise. She acknowledged inwardly how hard it might be to keep such a promise while maintaining Divine Victoria’s good opinion. Lizzie was not exactly wrong about the Divine wanting more control. Already, Cassandra and Victoria had clashed over the loyalties of the new Order of Seekers. And if they lost the backing of Most Holy now, the Inquisition would be in a precarious position.  

But surely there was a way to please both Victoria and Lizzie. She’d secured the Sunburst Throne for Victoria; could the Divine really begrudge her one more favor? A more permanent solution for the mages outside the Circle would not be too much to ask.

As she threw a sidelong glance at Lizzie, she hoped for her own sake it was not.

 

~~~

 

Waking in the room she’d once called her own, Jane felt a strange sense of nostalgia. It was difficult to reconcile the person who’d lived in this sunny, pink room with the Inquisitor. Most of her belongings were at Skyhold now; everything left was from a time _before--_ a time when the word Inquisition made her think of dusty history books. A time when the people impacted by her decisions could fit into one room. A time when the answer to the question _‘Who are you?’_ was simply _‘Jane.’_

A time before Cullen.

Jane tried to keep him from her thoughts, but it was impossible now that she knew he’d been to Longbourn. She considered asking her father for more information. Jane could certainly guess the purpose of his visit.

 _I like traditions_ , she’d told him.

She knew she would not be able to accept him until she’d fixed the anchor. She would not tie him down to someone who could not be an equal partner. That path led to ruin. At least the Exalted Council gave them some time. Cullen wouldn’t propose at the Winter Palace; even he had more sense than that.

Their father summoned them one-by-one that morning, with Lydia explaining he did not wish to tire himself out. He met with Kitty first, while the others waited in the parlor. Lizzie and Jane read on the sofa, while Lydia sipped tea and fidgeted, playing with various objects in the room under the guise of tidying. They had breakfast. Jane watched Lizzie slowly unpeel three hard-boiled eggs and then slice each one with methodical precision. She nibbled on the egg whites and set the yolks aside.

Jane frowned as she watched.  

Kitty appeared soon after, looking sad. “He wants to see you next,” she told Jane.

Doris was taking away a tray of tea when she entered the library. She curtsied at Jane and closed the door behind her as she left. Jane turned to look at her father.

They’d placed Lord Trevelyan close to the fireplace. His wooden, makeshift bed was closer to the floor than a normal bed would be, and there was a chair to his left side, clearly intended for visitors. A portrait of her grandfather stared down at them from above the mantle. Jane was somehow surprised to see a likeness between the two men. Lord Trevelyan had always favored his father’s genes, but his manner was so strikingly different that the resemblance was passing, at best. Where Grandfather had been gaunt and sharp, with a wicked tongue that often got him into trouble, Lord Trevelyan had been full-faced and gentle, his sense of humor more easy-going than his late older brother or father. He was a second son, after all.

But he looked to have aged ten years since she’d last seen him. His cheeks were sunken, his skin gray, and his hair more salt than pepper. The sight made her pause in the doorway. There was still a gleam of humor in his dark brown eyes; that alone was what gave her the strength to approach him.

“Jane,” he said, reaching his hand for hers. She took her glove off her right hand and clasped his. He tugged. “Sit. Please.”

Jane did so. She blinked rapidly at the tears in her eyes. “Father,” she said.

“Now, now,” he said, squeezing her fingers. He spoke slowly, in a rough voice. “I must ask that you save your tears.” He paused between each sentence for a breath. “I’m afraid Kitty has used up all the time that I allotted for people crying at me today.” He gave her a weak smile. “Perhaps tomorrow, _you_ can come first and then I’ll allow a little weeping.”

Jane let out a laugh, despite herself. So he was still himself. “Father,” she chided.

“There,” he said. “That’s more like it.” He struggled into a better position, and she helped him, fluffing his pillows. He looked her over. “It’s good to see you. How is Skyhold?”

She gave him a look. “You can’t expect me to just treat this like any other visit.”

“I can expect anything I’d like,” Lord Trevelyan insisted. “My demands are allowed to be as ridiculous as I choose now.” He licked his lips. They seemed dry. “It is one of the benefits of being deathly ill. The only one, perhaps,” he added thoughtfully.

“Don’t say that,” Jane said. “Is there anything I can get for you? A cup of water? Another blanket?”

“A cup of water,” he agreed. He studied her as she stood, going to the pitcher. “You’re a practical girl, Jane. I’ve always thought so.”

Jane glanced over her shoulder. “Thank you, Father.”

“So allow me to discuss practical matters,” he said.

She returned with the cup. He took a long sip, slowed by the way his hands shook. Jane caught a memory from her childhood, when her father could hold her above his head while she pretended to fly. He’d seemed like a giant then. She blinked, looking away. When he’d set the cup aside, she took his hand again, meeting his eye again.

“Practical matters,” she encouraged him.

He nodded. “My will.”

“Father,” Jane said, her throat tight, her grip firm. “Mama said that the apothecary has a potion.”

“He does,” Lord Trevelyan said. “Yes. But it’s a gamble. It helps the heart. But I would hardly be able to eat. In my state, the healers say I could die anyway. It would be much more painful.” He paused to clear his throat. “There is a saying in Tevinter, you know. _Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.”_

He began to cough, grabbing a handkerchief from his side. He hacked so hard his eyes watered. Jane stood, rubbing his back until the fit subsided.

“There must be something else we can do, then,” she begged.

He gave her a sad smile. “Ah, that’s my Jane,” he said.  He indicated she should sit again, so she did. “Sometimes, we have to face the truth. According to my healers--and the healers the Divine was kind enough to send me--the Maker will call me home soon. I'll be ready, when he does. I'm grateful to have a little time. To say goodbye. To settle our affairs." A note of sorrow entered his eyes. "My father did not. Your uncle did not. And I am grateful my illness will not linger for a long time, like my mother's. I will not be a burden on this family if I can avoid it.” When Jane still didn’t look comforted, he sighed and held his chin a little higher. “I am determined to meet my death with dignity, Jane. Allow your father that, at least.”

Jane felt tears threaten her eyes again. Unable to speak, she nodded.

“Now, then. My will,” Lord Trevelyan said. Jane listened as she stared at his blankets, though he sounded very far away. “I have purchased Longbourn with some of the Inquisition money you sent me. _This_ estate and its lands will go to you.” That caught her attention. She looked up, surprised, but he continued. “Kitty has agreed to give up her claim on the estate in Ostwick, so I am naming Lydia as my heir. I dare say you have no need for it. Then she and your mother can be settled.”

Jane was confused. “You must know I wouldn’t make them leave Longbourn.”

Her father gave her a strange look, and then seemed to weigh his response. “There may be a time,” he said carefully, “when _you_ will need Longbourn. It is an easy distance from Skyhold. And sizeable. A good home for a family.”

Jane stared at him. Two pieces of a puzzle snapped together in her head. “Oh,” she breathed, leaning back. “Cullen spoke to you about this.”

It was Lord Trevelyan’s turn to be surprised. He hesitated.

“I know he was here,” she said. “Lydia told me.”

Lord Trevelyan frowned. “I thought that might happen,” he muttered. 

“It was an honest mistake,” she told him. She took a deep breath. “He… asked for my hand, didn’t he?”

Lord Trevelyan paused, then nodded. Jane could not fully contain the small thrill she felt at that, though her left hand clenched all the same. “He assured me that you two had spoken about marriage,” her father continued. “And that you expressed an interest in maintaining certain traditions.” His eyes smiled. “An interest in children, too. I was very glad to hear. You’ll be a wonderful mother, Jane.” The thrill grew as she remembered her picture of the barefooted child with golden hair. The gleam of humor in her father’s eyes sharpened. “And--ah, yes. You’re taking his name, I hear. Don’t worry. He was kind enough to warn me. Your idea, apparently. I am a _little_ disappointed… but I understand. He was quite nervous. He seemed to think I’d be offended by his lack of title.” He chuckled. “I told him Commander was as good a title as any. I suppose I get to make one of my ridiculous demands now, hm?”

“You’ll make it either way,” Jane said. 

He chuckled. “True. If you _must_ take his name,” he went on, “would you consider naming your first child for me? Trevelyan, I mean.” He paused. “Well, Trevelyan for a boy, and Trevelyana for a girl, I suppose. And then let’s hope to Andraste the child’s a girl.” He coughed a few times into his handkerchief. “It’s an old tradition on my mother’s side of the family. I may not be a sentimental man, but it would bring me a great deal of pleasure to know my legacy will live on in _some_ manner of speaking.”

“Trevelyan Rutherford?” Jane said, doubtfully.

“Just the first one,” he assured her. “You can name the rest of them however you choose.”

“Of… course,” she said, her mind spinning. Maker. _The rest of them._ The image of the golden-haired child changed to several, all of different ages. Jane’s vision blurred. When Lord Trevelyan squeezed her hand tighter, she blinked rapidly.

He touched her chin. “Oh, Jane. Now what did I say about weeping?”

Jane dabbed her eye with her sleeve. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Enough of this. Back to more practical matters,” Lord Trevelyan said firmly, with a soft motion of his hand. “So. My estate to Lydia. Longbourn to you. And the remainder of my assets, I will be dividing among you, Kitty, and Lydia. My plan is to donate a little money to the Grey Wardens, as well. I cannot give anything to Mary directly, you see, but I would feel cruel leaving her out.” He sighed. “If only there was something I could do for poor Lizzie.” As a mage, she was unable to inherit by Chantry law. He peered at Jane. _“You_ will take care of her, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Jane agreed. “Always.”

“Good,” Lord Trevelyan said, leaning back. “Then I needn’t worry.” He looked tired, and his voice had slowed back to a crawl. “Perhaps it is time I spoke with her. I’ll need to rest soon.”

“Of course, Father,” Jane said. She kissed his cheek gently as she stood. “I love you.”

“And I you, Jane.” He tutted. “Oh--a word of advice before you go.” She paused at the door, turning. “You know that I love you all dearly--but five is simply _too many.”_

Jane huffed a light laugh, acknowledging his statement with a nod. She turned and left. She felt like she could burst into tears for a dozen different reasons, but instead breathed deeply and went to the parlor to fetch Lizzie. 

 

~~~

 

The days passed too quickly. Jane was able to nurse her mother back to full health by the second afternoon. Soon, Lady Trevelyan was visiting Lord Trevelyan with them in the mornings--much to his annoyance--and dining with Jane and her sisters in the evenings. Lizzie rarely joined them, but assured Jane she ate on her own in the kitchen. Jane hoped that was true.  

Lizzie checked on the anchor a few times. It remained wide and continued to feed off Jane’s energy, but at least it did not look worse. When Jane was not with Lady or Lord Trevelyan, she and Lizzie walked the estate or went down to the village. Jane found her eyes wandering in a way they never had before. She’d walked these paths a hundred times, but never with the thought of them being hers. If she and Lizzie devised a way to control the anchor, then this would be the home she and Cullen had wished for--a compromise between Skyhold and South Reach. A place to raise a family.

She became used to the idea that she was saying goodbye to her father--as accustomed as she ever would be, she assumed. Being with Lizzie again raised her spirits in general, and she liked to believe that being around _her_ raised Lizzie’s. In the back of her mind, she churned through possibilities of what she could do with the Inquisition mages. There was Antiva--but their Circle was under the Chantry, and given what had happened to Dairsmuid, Lizzie would most likely be against the suggestion. Cumberland sat empty, now that the First Enchanter was also the Divine’s Left Hand. Ellendra Lucas had wished to stay closer to Val Royeaux and was moved to the seat at the White Spire. However, Cassandra had mentioned a potential plan for that space, something involving her Seekers.

Jane assured herself they had time. Her trip to Longbourn was meant to be about her father. Once the Exalted Council was over, she could focus more clearly on her hand, on the mages, and on Cullen.

 

~~~

 

Jane woke, choking on a scream.

Surely there was a fire, because her hand was _burning._ She folded over, balling it into a fist against her chest. A blur of green light was all she could see. A cry was ripped from her throat as the anchor flared. She’d never felt so much pain in her life.

“Jane?” a voice cried from her doorway.

Jane looked up, narrowing her eyes. There were figures in her room, illuminated by the light. One rushed toward the bed. She recognized Lizzie’s face through her pain and tried to speak.

 _“Hurts,”_ she said between her teeth.

“Kitty, Lydia,” Lizzie said firmly. “Go get water.” They hesitated, and Lizzie fixed them with a stare over her shoulder. “Go!”

They scattered. Lizzie grabbed Jane’s hand and looked at it, her face falling. A dozen jagged lines cracked Jane’s skin now, all the way down to her wrist, as if her hand were porcelain, and had dropped and shattered. Light shot through them, crackling with static. They were like translucent wounds. Lizzie’s sorrow turned to determination and then she focused, using her magic. The anchor began to calm.

The fire began to fade.

Jane slumped forward in relief. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice thin. “Did… did I wake everyone?”

“No,” Lizzie said. “Mama and Father took sleeping potions. Doris and Cook went back to their houses.” She glanced at the door. “We don’t have much time.” She pushed more healing into Jane’s hand. “I’ll tell Kitty and Lydia it was a nightmare.”

“Didn’t they see the anchor?” Jane asked, worried.

“Some of it, but they’ll believe me if I say that’s normal,” Lizzie said.

Jane squeezed her fist shut. She felt bile in the back of her throat. “It’s getting worse,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Lizzie said. She rubbed Jane’s back, looking concerned.

Jane blew out all the air in her lungs. “I think I’m dying.”

Lizzie looked up, frightened. “We don’t know,” she reminded her. “Cillian will be at Halamshiral, you said. Remember? And if that doesn’t work, there’s the Mages’ Collective. Or we can go back to the Temple of--”

Jane broke in. “Maybe it's just my time,” she said, blinking back tears.

The hand on Jane’s back stopped. “What are you saying?”

Jane felt sick, clenching her hand into a fist. “Maybe Father’s right. Maybe I need to get used to the fact that--” Her throat bobbed. “We might not find a cure.”

“You--,” Lizzie began, but then their sisters reappeared with a pitcher of water. Lizzie rose and poured Jane a cup. “We can talk more tomorrow,” she whispered when she handed it to Jane. “But please, don’t give up on me.”

Jane didn’t meet her eyes. As her sisters left, she heard Lizzie begin to tell them about the nightmares. She reflected on the irony that her dreams were often pleasant. If anything, she’d welcome whatever false visions the Fade could throw her way over the torment that was churning inside her right now.

Then again, maybe not. The image of a flock of children in the parlor of Longbourn burned to ash in her head. Jane breathed out and could almost taste the soot.

She would not sleep again that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm sorry, I hate ending on total sad notes.
> 
> Thank you again to Aethusa, my lovely beta.


	4. his light shall be our banner

****Jane sat in bed for a long time, staring into space, hardly aware that time was passing at all. She could not bear to look at her hand. The anchor was calm; she felt no pain, only the thrum of power that she’d grown used to. Now, the faint sensation turned her stomach. Her mind kept drifting back to the look in Lizzie’s eyes, the flicker of pain that Jane had caused by speaking.

 _I think I’m dying_.

Well, she did. She was. There was no point in denying it anymore. The mark on her hand was killing her.

Silently, she cursed Telana, Ameridan’s long dead lover, then retracted the thought, ashamed of herself. It was not Telana’s fault that she’d died connected to the Fade--that something in her bones had ignited the ancient magic in Jane’s hand. Just as it was not Telana’s fault that her lover was called to a higher purpose, that her lover could not make Telana his only, or even his first, priority.

That his duty had killed them both in the end.  

She thought of Cullen, and bit her lip.  

After a while, she realized that she had not moved since her sisters had left. Her windows were still black, with no sign of dawn. She rose and dressed, heading downstairs. Lord Trevelyan was fast asleep when she reached the library. Only embers lit the room. The coming day would be hot, so Jane did not stoke them nor add any wood. Creeping in, she lowered herself into the chair beside her father.

Ages seemed to pass as she sat there, watching him breathe. In the darkness, it was easy to blur away the new wrinkles on his forehead, the bruised circles under his eyes. With a tentative hand, she smoothed back his hair into its customary style. For those few early hours, she saw a younger man, a stronger man. She saw the man who’d raised her.

Light began to filter in through the window. It broke the illusion, revealing with almost deliberate slowness every line on his face, every gray hair. The sunken, pale complexion of his cheeks. The chapped skin on his lips. All of the damage this illness had dealt him. His chest rose and fell so faintly that, at times, she had to fight the urge to press her hand to his chest and find a heartbeat.

Her mind drifted back to what he’d told her that first morning. That he was grateful he had a little time--that at least he would have a chance to say goodbye. She traced the thick leather palm of her left glove with her fingers, feeling the mark pulse beneath it. She wasn’t sure she felt the same.

Jane was not frightened of dying. Whatever came after--be it the Void, the Beyond, the Emerald Waters--scared her a little, though not as much as it once had. Too many times now, she’d been forced to stare her own death in the face and accept it. Haven. Corypheus. The titan in the Deep Roads. Hakkon. In each moment, she’d been ready and willing to go to the Maker, if necessary.

But she’d never been prepared to _say goodbye._ The thought of watching others mourn her while she still lived, of growing weaker, of searching her life for meaning--that terrified her.

What she'd expected was a quick death. A death for a cause so deserving that it empowered the Inquisition and gave solace to those she left behind. A death like Hawke’s. Since the war ended, she’d let herself picture a kinder ending, one where she survived. Where her last sight was of her own aged hands, knotted knuckles and feather soft wrists, forearms decorated with tawny livermarks and a handful of ancient scars.

She clenched her fist. _This,_ she had not imagined. This was her life unravelling slowly, like a knitted scarf that had caught on a branch. Fading, like the embers in the fireplace. Sinking, like a ship with a hole in its hull, its crew scrambling to do something, despite knowing all was lost.

Jane did not want _this._ If she had to die young, she selfishly wished that it had happened when she’d fought Corypheus, or Hakkon, or any of the creatures she’d encountered over the past three years. She did not want to see the face of each and every person she loved as they realized the truth. She did not want to watch her friends and family and _Cullen_ try to grapple with what her loss would mean to them. She did not want to hear Josephine describe, in somber tones, the shifts in Val Royeaux and Denerim that would occur in her absence. She did not want to waste all the political capital she’d built on making sure the Inquisition had enough structure to survive her.

But she had no choice.

She shivered. Idly, she wondered if it was too late to track down another dragon.

Her father began to hack and cough, waking himself. The fog of Jane’s thoughts lifted, and she leapt up to grab his cup of water. This time, she held the cup for him, letting him take a few deep gulps before taking it away.

“Thank you,” he said in a raspy voice as she sat back down. His bright eyes regarded her with curiosity, then amusement. “Ah. I see you rose before the rest of the household to gain the privilege of weeping first today. A sound strategy.” Jane managed a sad smile. He always found some excuse to make his wife and daughters promise not to cry. He continued, his throat still raw, “But you leave for Orlais this morning, don’t you? You don’t want to taint the memory of our last goodbye with _too_ many tears.”

Jane’s smile crumbled. “Father, please,” she whispered. “Be serious.”

He bowed his head and sighed. “I apologize,” he said slowly. “You are right, of course. There are… a few moments in life that demand sincerity. I believe this is one of them.” He met her gaze. “I’m very bad at this sort of thing,” he warned her after a short pause. “But allow me to say this: I am proud of you, Jane.” She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “And I’ll continue to be proud of you, no matter what comes. Even when I am not around to show it.”

“Thank you,” Jane said, guiltily. There would not be much left to be proud of.

He reached for her left hand. She gave him the right one. He didn’t seem to notice the awkward shift. “Even before the Inquisition, I was proud of you. You’ve always seen the good in people. I used to wonder where all that compassion came from. Not from me, nor my family. Not from your mother, I daresay. And, to my shame, I wondered what good it would do you. There were times I worried. I thought it made a person weak, to be gentle.” He gave her a faint smile. “I was wrong. Gentle can be strong, too.”

 _Strong,_ Jane thought, keeping her gaze lowered. There it was again. She had donned that mantle so effectively that even her sister and father were fooled. But she’d never felt so weak. Here was her father, dying, and _he_ was not consumed by pain, panic, grief and shame, all at once. He was trying to comfort _her,_ to give her the tools with which to carry on.

“So thank you,” her father continued, pausing only for a breath. “Thank you for teaching an old man a lesson that he should have learned a long time ago.” He squeezed her hand. “You are a wonderful leader, Jane. I am honored to be your father. And I’m sure your children will make you just as proud someday.”

She’d asked him to be serious, but now, staring at the floor, she almost wished she had not. Goodbyes like this were meant to bring closure, and that was something beyond her reach. If he knew, if he only _knew--_

Jane stopped. She could tell him, she realized. She could to tell him about the anchor, about what it was doing to her. An urge to ask him for help bubbled up within her, springing from some childish corner of her heart. He was her father. Maybe he could comfort her. Maybe he could teach her how to reach that peaceful mindset, that place where having a little time felt like a gift.

“Father--,” she began, her eyes flicking up to his face.

The words died on her tongue. In the sunlit room, he looked so ill, his lips as gray as his skin. He’d worsened, even in those past three days. Could a man that frail bear the knowledge that his oldest child was dying? _No,_ Jane decided. He should not have to. If he couldn’t sense the cracks in her, or the broken magic on her hand, then she would not ruin the illusion. Let him believe her whole and well and strong.

“I love you,” she said instead. Tears spilled from her eyes as she blinked, leaving tracks on her cheeks, and for once, Lord Trevelyan did not try to stop them. “I’ll miss you,” she added, softly, because that _was_ the truth, whatever the future held.

He squeezed her fingers tighter. Jane could feel his hand tremble. “I know,” he whispered.

As day broke, the household rose. Jane could no longer put off what needed to be done. She hugged her father tightly; he gave her a kiss on the cheek, wishing her luck and happiness. She left when Lizzie appeared at the door, giving the two of them a final moment alone.

As she helped Doris pack her trunk into the carriage, Lady Trevelyan appeared in the doorway, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “It’s very cruel, leaving us like this,” she told Jane.

Jane made sure the trunk was secure, then went to her mother. They hugged. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she said. “If this was any less important, you know I would stay.”

Lady Trevelyan sniffed into Jane’s shoulder. “You’ll come back soon, though, won’t you?”

“I’ll try,” Jane said, sincerely, her eyes scanning over Longbourn as she squeezed her mother tightly. And she would. She would try.

But a part of her was sure this was her last visit home.  

 

~~~

 

Kitty chose to stay at Longbourn a few days longer. Jane supported the decision. There was no reason for Kitty to be at the Exalted Council, and in the privacy of the carriage, Lizzie could spend more time studying Jane’s hand. Even if she could not cure it, Jane thought perhaps she could devise a way to obscure it.

During the journey, the two sisters talked about their family and their father. They experimented with the anchor, though Jane steered the conversation away from her own prognosis. Lizzie’s original technique stopped the flares for a day or two, but the attacks always came back worse, which made Lizzie reluctant to use it. The only successful alternative seemed to be mixing two kinds of magic and continually pulsing them into Jane’s hand--Jane wasn’t clear on the particulars. All she knew was that Lizzie preferred the second method to the first.

Jane avoided thinking about what they’d do once the Exalted Council began. Either Lizzie would need to suppress it again, or she’d have to sit beside Jane during the negotiations, trying to hide magic from a mage Divine. Neither option sounded promising.

The south was hot, each day warmer than the last. Lizzie used magic on the windows to maintain a cool breeze, which made the stuffy little carriage a bit more bearable. The horses became sluggish. It was clear by the time they reached Rainesfere that they would be a day or two late. Fortunately, negotiations did not begin until the third day, and they would only miss the feasts.

“We shouldn’t go,” Lizzie told her one night, in an inn near the border. They’d just gotten into their beds. The windows were open; the sounds of the lake outside floated in, frogs croaking and bugs humming, almost matching Lizzie’s voice for volume. Jane could tell that her sister had planned this speech from the measured way she carried each word. “We should head back to Skyhold. You’re mark won’t stay stable for long. I have more resources there, and you’d be able to rest. Maybe Dagna could even make you something--”

“No,” Jane said quietly.

She hated to interrupt, but her sister’s hope was like a sword through her stomach. Somehow, she knew any efforts to cure the anchor would be in vain. It was a battle lost before it'd even begun.

There was, however, one thing she could save.

The Inquisition.

She turned her head to look at Lizzie’s dim shadow, trying to find the words to explain. “Everything I’ve worked for…. There _must_ be peace in the South. Ferelden hasn’t recovered from the Blight, not truly, and Orlais would devour itself alive, if given the chance. Both will be facing a succession crisis within the next few decades.” She shook her head, despite the fact that Lizzie couldn’t see her. “There _has_ to be a standing peace between them. _If_ I die,” she said, the words chosen for her sister’s benefit, “who would take up the cause?”

Lizzie hesitated before speaking. “I… thought that was why you picked Vivienne,” she said. There was no accusation in her tone.

“It was. In part.” Jane rolled onto her back, thinking of the tension in Val Royeaux. “The Chantry _is_ stronger. I just didn’t foresee…. It’s facing new difficulties.” She tried to sound apologetic. “I always wanted to look beyond the Circle. You know that. There’s too much controversy for Victoria to do that right now.” She looked at the ceiling. “And… I’m not sure she even wants to,” she admitted, confessing her deepest concern about Divine Victoria’s reign.

Lizzie didn’t respond. Jane suspected that was only out of respect, and not because she had nothing to say.

Jane went on. “The only people I trust are part of the Inquisition itself. If we save it, I can pass my title on to Cassandra. They can keep looking for solutions for the South.” Her eyes flicked to the side. “For the Inquisition mages, too.”

Lizzie was quiet. “But afterwards, we focus on fixing the anchor,” she said after a moment.

Jane wasn’t sure what to say. The buzz of the outside world was the only sound in the room for several minutes. A rustle of sheets alerted her to her sister turning.

“Are you going to tell the council?” Lizzie asked. “About the anchor.”

“No,” Jane said. “The Inquisition has to appear as stable as possible. If the Exalted Council knew I was ill, we’d lose ground.”

“I meant _your_ council.”

“I know,” Jane said, her jaw clenching. Telling the council meant telling Cullen, and once Cullen knew, she would be finished. She needed her mask, needed to act the part of Inquisitor Trevelyan. The thought of seeing grief in Cullen’s eyes--of him grasping what was lost, what they were _both_ losing--

Her throat burned. She swallowed.

“Not even Cullen?” Lizzie asked softly.

Jane squeezed her eyes shut. “Not even Cullen.”

 

~~~

 

They reached Halamshiral in the late afternoon, riding the crest of the heat wave. The Inquisition had selected the same _chateau_ they’d stayed at two years previously. Like everything in Orlais, the house was too ornate for Jane’s taste, with more balconies than rooms and more windows than was practical. It was within riding distance of the Winter Palace, though, and afforded them a little privacy. Josephine was waiting inside, her anxiety clear in her tight posture. She chatted quickly with the two sisters, inquiring after their father and expressing her sympathies. Then she took Jane by the elbow and tugged her toward stairs.

“I apologize, but there will be no time to meet with the council,” Josephine told Jane as Lizzie trailed them. Jane felt a wave of relief that she would not have to see Cullen quite yet. “Tonight’s festivities begin in two hours, and we will need to arrive on time.” Josephine’s expression tightened. “Your absence was noted last night.”

“Surely they can't hold that against Jane,” Lizzie said. “Our father is very ill.”

“Any feasting or entertainment before a negotiation is an _integral_ part of diplomacy,” Josephine explained. “It is a chance to bond, to show respect toward our allies, and to enjoy one another’s company. The court is sympathetic toward your circumstances, of course, but the Inquisitor is meant to be the guest of honor.” She frowned at Jane. “We will do what we can, but--tonight’s event is a much smaller affair. Fewer people will see you, and perception is key.”

“Much smaller?” Jane asked. She thought of her mark. “Will Lizzie be able to come?”

Josephine looked surprised. “No,” she said. “We submitted the guest list weeks ago. Leliana and I are the only ones who chose to attend. I…I hope that is not a problem?”

“Of course not,” Jane said in a casual tone, catching Lizzie’s worried frown.

They arrived at Jane’s room, where a scented bath waited. A balcony faced west, toward the Winter Palace, which could be seen across the expanse of a lake. A female elf stood next to the entryway, her dark brown hair drawn into a bun and her hands clasped behind her back.

“Inquisitor, this is Odette,” Josephine said, holding out one hand. “While we are here, she will be attending to your needs.”

Odette curtsied without raising her head. “Your Worship,” she said in a heavy Orlesian accent.

“Please,” Jane said. “I prefer Inquisitor.”

Odette inclined her head in acknowledgment, her eyes darting up and then down again.

Josephine turned back to Jane. “When you have finished washing and dressing, meet me downstairs. I will call for the carriage.” She gave Jane a rigid smile. _“Please_ be swift.”

As Josephine turned on her heel and walked back into the hall, Jane and Lizzie exchanged a look. Lizzie nodded toward Odette and then the door. Jane agreed.

“Odette,” she said out loud.

“Yes, your--,” Odette began before catching herself. “Inquisitor?”

“You’re dismissed for now,” Jane said. “My sister will help me dress tonight.”

Odette blinked. “Of course, Inquisitor,” she said, bowing. She left and closed the door.

Lizzie turned once they were alone. “You don’t have to go tonight.”

“I do.” Jane gave her sister an apologetic look. “You’ll have to suppress it.”

Lizzie worked her jaw, clearly disliking the idea. “Jane…,” she said weakly.

“I know,” Jane said. “I'm sorry. But I can’t go out there with nothing.”

“It makes it worse,” Lizzie pleaded.

“It’s becoming worse either way.”

Lizzie shook her head. “Not as quickly.”

Jane heard her father’s voice in her head. _Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease_. She pushed the thought away.

“Please,” she insisted, holding out her hand. _“Please._ I need you to trust me.”

Lizzie’s lips tightened. She held her breath, shifted on her feet, then blew out the air, shaking her head. She grabbed Jane’s hand with her own, roughly, not giving herself time to reconsider. Her eyes went dark. She began working magic through the leather glove.

Jane felt the pressure of the anchor clench and become firm, as if a bit of clay had been rolled into a ball in her palm. Lizzie let go. She stepped back, conflict writ across her face, her eyes fading back to normal.

“Thank you,” Jane said, curling her hand into a fist. Her sister just stared, looking as if she might vomit. Jane felt a tendril of guilt. “I can dress myself,” she added, gently. “Maybe you should find your quarters.”

Lizzie tore her eyes from Jane’s hand, glancing to the side. She gripped her arm tightly with one hand. The guilt swelled in Jane’s stomach. After a beat, Lizzie turned and left the room without speaking. The door shut behind her.

Jane cleared her mind, trying to focus on her task. She stripped and stepped into the bath. The tub was charmed to keep the water hot, but given the weather, that was no relief.  She examined her bare left hand. There were thin cuts and scars where the cracks had been, red on her skin, but the anchor was the only one leaking light and energy. Taking a cloth, she began to wash. She scrubbed soap and oil hard into her skin. Even so, she left the bath sweating, feeling no more clean than when she’d entered.

A red and blue uniform had been laid out on the bed. Jane recognized it. She’d worn it last time she was in Halamshiral. She dressed quickly, cognizant of Josephine waiting downstairs. After she’d put her damp, warm hair in a bun, she ran her fingers over her jacket, smoothing the coarse material.

At the vanity, someone--Josephine most likely, but it could have been Leliana--had left make-up for her. She applied it methodically, in the Orlesian style that Leliana had once taught her. Lines on her eyelids, a faint blush to her cheeks, and some tint for her lips. She never used as much as Leliana wanted, but it still altered her face, and she preferred it over a mask.  

Finally, she was done. She looked at her reflection. The woman who stared back was uncannily familiar, but was not quite Jane. Her cheeks were sharper, her eyes were piercing, and her gaze held the steady look of confidence that Jane had never truly felt. This woman betrayed none of Jane’s terror. She seemed as though she could take on the world.

And as Josephine liked to say, perception was key.

 

~~~

 

The Winter Palace ballroom was buzzing with noise. Jane greeted the Inquisition’s noble connections from Orlais and Ferelden as she entered. According to Leliana, they had all been under increased pressure to pick between their homeland and the Inquisition. Jane had a nagging suspicion that she could read their choice in their stilted manner and strained smiles. Still, many eyes were on her that evening, so she tried to play the role she knew so well.

Throughout the night, she felt Lizzie’s magic clamping down on the anchor. It was distracting. She sipped a sweet, chilled wine and tried to ignore the sweltering heat. Walking from the veranda to the main ballroom felt like wading through a swamp, the press of too many sweating bodies in silk milling about her. It did not help that her own uniform had been designed for a winter’s ball, and not for a hot night at the height of summer. She tugged on her collar, trying to let some air into her clothes.

It was hard to focus. Her mind was half elsewhere, thinking of the dangers that lurked behind her palm, behind the guests, behind her own behavior. When she lost the thread of a conversation with Marquis Wiscotte and had to awkwardly excuse herself, Leliana appeared, catching her off guard.

“Walk with me,” her friend said cheerfully.

They found their way to a balcony. Jane placed her drink on the flat surface of the balustrade. A strong breeze blew in from the east, and Jane closed her eyes in relief when it ran over her cheeks.

“It will rain soon,” Leliana observed. Jane looked at her curiously. Leliana gestured toward the treeline in the distance, and Jane’s gaze followed. There were pale flashes among the dark leaves. Leliana sounded amused. “The leaves. They look like they are lifting up their skirts. That means a storm is coming.” She shook her head and shrugged. “Something I was taught as a little girl.”

The view looked familiar. Jane tried to remember if this was the balcony she and Cullen had danced on once, what felt like a lifetime ago. She felt the ghost of a hand on the small of her back, the echo of a giddy laugh bubbling up in her chest when he spun her.

_I thought you didn’t dance?_

_For you, I’ll try,_ his smile whispered against her ear.

The treeline blurred. She blinked. Thinking of Cullen here and now was a terrible idea. She buried the memory and cleared her throat.

“Did you bring me out here to discuss the weather?” she asked Leliana, harder than she’d intended.

“No.” Leliana paused, clasping her hands behind her back. “This must be difficult for you.”

Jane gave her a sharp look. “What do you mean?”

“Being here,” Leliana said. “With your father so ill.”

“Oh,” Jane said, faltering. “Yes.”

Leliana studied her carefully. “Is something else weighing on your mind, Inquisitor?”

Jane picked up her glass and took a sip, not wanting Leliana to see her face. “No,” she said. “Of course not. I’m just… tired. From the journey.”

She could feel Leliana’s gaze lingering. “I see.” Leliana lowered her voice. “I understand if you are… distracted. You do not need to speak with every noble present tonight. It is more important that you are _seen._ But make sure those who are watching see someone at ease. You are at court.” When Jane didn’t reply, Leliana touched her arm. “Jane. Smile. You have always been good at the Game.”

Jane’s eyes flicked over to the trees again. “Have I?” she asked, the question flat and rhetorical.

“Of course you have. How many nobles have you charmed at Skyhold?” Leliana pointed out.

“Hosting people at Skyhold barely counts. Josephine orchestrates the whole thing. I’ve only been _here_ once since Corypheus died. And that was for peace talks.” Her tone turned a little wry as she met Leliana’s gaze. “As it turns out, the Game is much easier when there’s a war on.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching once. “Well. You _are_ the Inquisitor,” she said. “Start one.”

That startled a chuckle out of Jane. She relaxed, feeling some of the tension leave their conversation. “I think we’d need to be an actual country to declare war on someone,” she said.

“Ferelden will be surprised to hear _that,”_ Leliana told her. She cocked her head. “Come. I will introduce you to Duke Guillaume of Val Autrise and his sister, Aimee. They are eager to meet you. And I think their company will be good for you.”

After that, the night began to go more smoothly. She spoke with the young Duke and his sister, pleased to find them warmer than most of the Orlesians nobles she knew. Josephine passed by on her way to dinner, and smiled an encouraging smile when Jane happened to catch her eye. It wavered a little, like a tightrope with an amateur walker, but Jane appreciated the gesture all the same.

They were served duck in a rich citrus sauce with thin slices of candied fruit, and sweet roots with soft cheese. Jane couldn’t help but think of how much Lizzie would have hated the meal, and how Josephine would have made her eat some of it anyway. Her sister was not keen on Orlesian food. Jane frowned. Not that her sister was eating much these days.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana asked, bringing Jane back to the present. “The Duke was just asking about your recent trip to the Frostback Basin.”

“I hear you encountered Avvar,” Duke Guillaume said, his accent extending the _r_ s in a charming manner. He grinned. His dark red mask was designed to show more of his face than was in style, presumably to emphasize his square jaw. “Are they quite as wild as they seem?”

“Oh, yes!” Aimee exclaimed. Her matching mask was decorated with two curved rows of small crystals, just where her eyebrows would be. They glittered as she tilted her head. _“I_ hear they steal infants from the cradle. Is it true?”

“Not that I know of,” Jane said, amused by their enthusiasm. Despite herself, she was enjoying their company. At a guess, the pair were Kitty and Lydia’s age, and they were new to society. It was obvious that neither was accustomed to court yet. Their energy and disregard for the Game were a relief, and Jane found it easy to slip into a comfortable rapport with them. She continued, dropping to a whisper, “But they _do_ sometimes steal their spouses from other clans.”

Aimee gasped. “How shocking!”

The Duke only shrugged. “Stealing spouses,” he mused. “I suppose it is not _much_ more barbaric than the custom of arranged marriages here, no?”

Aimee slapped his arm. “Guillaume!” she chastised him.

“Forcing two rational creatures into a relationship,” the Duke continued with a wave, earning another gasp from his sister. “Treating one's children like one's livestock. You cannot say you support this, Aimee?”

Aimee glanced at Jane, her eyes wide beneath the crystals. “I must apologize for my brother. He so enjoys trying to shock people.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Jane said, smiling. She knew the Duke’s type well. Young, cocky, and determined to prove himself nothing like the generation before him. Her own cousin John was that way once. “I assure you.”

“You see?” the Duke said. “The Inquisitor and I are in agreement.” He met Jane’s gaze again, his eyes sparkling. He winked. _“Courtship_ is always better, yes?”

Jane caught his meaning, and froze, her lips parted in surprise. It had been a long time since anyone at court had expressed an interest in her hand. Despite Josephine’s efforts to hide the extent of Cullen and Jane’s relationship, they rarely bothered at Skyhold, and so gossip persisted. On top of which, the Duke was at least a decade her junior. Jane’s heart began to thud, panic filling her.

_Courtship._

“I think we can _all_ agree,” Leliana said smoothly, “that courtship is preferable when both parties are interested.”

This amused the sister, who burst into giggles, clutching her brother’s shoulder, and caused the Duke to blush. He did not look offended, however. He cleared his throat. “Ah. I take it that the rumors about the Inquisitor and the Inquisition’s Commander are true, then?”

Jane felt her throat close as Aimee pursed her lips, growing serious. “Or _perhaps_ those rumors are none of our business, _Guillaume,”_ the sister whispered. She hissed something Orlesian in the Duke’s ear. Jane could not hear it, but thought she caught the word _‘maman’_ among a few others.

The Duke blinked, going a little pale. He looked suddenly abashed and gave Jane a quick nod. “I… apologize, Inquisitor, for my forwardness. It must be the wine. I-- ah, only mean to say that if it is true, then he is a very lucky man.”

Jane barely heard him. She didn’t know what to do. Her mind was completely blank. The anxiety she’d been holding at bay over Cullen was now threatening to boil over. Between the heat and the aching panic in her chest, she knew she must be as red as her uniform.

Leliana broke in again after a long, awkward pause. “Oh! I believe dessert is on its way,” she said, looking toward the back of the room. “I hope they have those chocolate candies from last night. The ones painted like little opals. They looked as good as they tasted.”

Aimee jumped in, eager to move on as well. “Those are exquisite, are they not?”

As the conversation turned to food, Jane began to breathe. Eventually, she shot Leliana a thankful, embarrassed look. Leliana only inclined her head slightly, a hard question in her eyes.

Jane’s gaze fell to the table.

 _One week_ , she told herself.

 

~~~

 

It was nearly eleven by the time they left the Winter Palace. Despite Jane’s earlier panic, she had to admit that being around people who did not know about the anchor was a relief. But the closer they got to the _chateau,_ the more the pressure began to build again, thudding between her lungs like the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt road. She knew what--or rather _who--_ she would find behind those white and gold walls, and she would rather spend another month in the Deep Roads than face him. Even her slim hopes of putting off their greeting until morning were dashed when Josephine mentioned she wanted to have a short meeting with the council before bed.

“Just a few items,” she assured Jane. “No decisions to be made. There is not time for much else. We cannot appear exhausted tomorrow.”

As they exited their carriage, Jane felt a drop of rain on her cheek, followed by another. “It’s raining,” she mentioned as she helped Josephine down.

“No! Is it?” Josephine exclaimed, peering skyward. She placed her hand palm up to test for drops and frowned when she felt one. “Oh, what a shame! There were supposed to be fireworks at midnight.”

“At least the heat might break before the negotiations,” Leliana said.

“That is true,” Josephine said, still disappointed.

The rain held long enough for them to rush into the house. They gathered at a window once they were safely inside, and could just make out a burst of heavy rain coming down on the lake. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, silhouetting the palace against the dark clouds.  

“Thank goodness we left when we did,” Josephine said. “They must be practically stampeding toward the doors.”

Leliana chuckled as thunder rumbled in the distance. “I don’t know. I think the sight would be quite entertaining.”

“You would,” Josephine chided, but she said it with a smile.

“You're back,” a voice said behind them, and Jane’s heart jumped to her throat. She turned slowly to see Cullen at the end of the foyer, his arms crossed. “I’m glad you beat the rain. If barely.” He inclined his head toward Jane with a twist, sympathy in his eyes. “Jane.”

All the guilt came back in an instant, like a brick hitting her in the chest.

Cullen did not go to her. Whatever she’d conveyed by treating him coldly at Skyhold had stuck, and she could tell he was holding back, waiting for her cue. He was in a plain shirt, the sleeves partway rolled up, and wore a pair of simple trousers. She felt a swell of tenderness and deep shame at the sight of him. _Andraste preserve me,_ she thought. His expression was collected but concerned. He looked warm and familiar. She dug her fingers into her palms, wanting nothing more than to bury her face into his chest, to let herself crumble, to surrender.

The panic she’d tried to hold down rushed through her. Her mind flashed to the very worst days of his withdrawal, when she’d found him nearly incoherent at his desk in his office. She’d sworn it would not happen again. That he was safe with her.

But he wasn't. He wasn’t. She would just be the next thing in his life to shatter him. And how many times could Cullen dedicate himself to something only to lose it before he gave up? How far would he need to be pushed before he could not come back again? How many times would life dangle something he wanted in front of him and snatch it away before it broke him?

Jane tore her gaze from his. She could not be weak. She corralled those fears into their cages again, swept the worries from her mind, and forced herself to breathe. _This--_ this was why the council could not know yet. If she told Cullen, they both would fall apart. And she could not afford to. Not yet.

Only a few seconds had passed in the time it took Jane to compose herself. She forced herself to look at him. “Good evening, Commander,” she said, her mask back in place.

Leliana observed this with faint interest flickering her eyes. Josephine looked somewhat surprised. Cullen was not surprised at all. He looked resigned, sighed, then nodded forward, toward an entryway on the other side of the hall.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Leliana and Josephine followed as Jane led them all into the library, which had served as a makeshift war room the last time they were at the _chateau_. Jane held herself stiffly as she walked, ignoring the drop of sweat that slid down her back.

“How was the ball?” she heard Cullen ask behind her, breaking the silence.  

“It was interesting,” Leliana replied. “The food was wrong for the season, and the empress had a new style of mask, inlaid with pearls. The Marquis of Alyons made his first appearance since being released from imprisonment, which _shocked_ the court.” In a teasing tone, she added, _“You_ would have hated it.”

“Which is why I declined,” Cullen agreed. “Bad enough that I had to attend last night. I never know what to say at those damned things.”

“The Orlesians do love you, though,” Josephine told him. They’d reached the library and Jane turned to face the others. “Every time you’re at court, we end up with at least half a dozen marriage proposals.”

“I hope you burn them,” Cullen muttered.

“We are in no danger of running low on kindling,” Leliana assured him. She folded her arms, her lips curling. “But they are fickle, the Orlesians. Tonight, the _Inquisitor_ was the one who received a marriage proposal from a complete stranger. A boy of twenty, at most.”

Cullen snorted and glanced up at Jane. He seemed to be more amused than anything else. “Is that so?”

Jane felt her blood go hot and her throat go dry. “It was _not_ a proposal,” she snapped at Leliana.

She took in a breath as she realized how sharply she’d spoken. All three of her advisers’ faces went flat, and they stared at her, shocked. Jane was not one to yell, ever. She turned her head to the side, rubbing the spot between her eyes. Perhaps this was too much for her.

“Sorry, I’m…,” she said, looking up. “I must apologize. Josie, I am exhausted. I’ve been travelling for weeks, and it’s almost midnight. Are you sure this can’t wait until morning?”

Josephine hesitated, then nodded. “As you wish, Inquisitor,” she said reluctantly. “I will have Odette wake you an hour before breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Jane breathed. “Please excuse me.”

She brushed past them before anyone could reply, before Cullen could recover, and made for her bedroom. Halfway there, she heard him call out behind her, soft but insistent.

 _“Jane,”_ he said, careful not to wake anyone. “Wait. Please.”

She ignored him. It was no surprise when he caught up. He had several inches on her, and besides, her eyes were beginning to sting, the threat of hot tears pricking their corners. He grabbed her arm just above the elbow and she stopped, only tugging once, not meeting his gaze.

“Jane--,” he began, then broke off, muttering. “Maker’s breath.”

He pulled her through a door off the hallway, and she let herself be led. It was a small room, one of those Orlesian rooms of leisure that every _chateau_ seemed to have twelve of--spacious, finely decorated, and with no discernable reason for existing. He dropped her arm and walked to the window, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

Jane watched him. She felt brittle inside. A hiccup of a sob was still somewhere between her chest and her throat. If Cullen had asked her in that moment what was wrong, she was quite sure she would have confessed everything.

But he did not.

“This is a misunderstanding,” he said instead, turning to her. She blinked, confused. His face was earnest and open. “I must apologize. When you told me you wanted to marry as the Inquisitor, I was caught off guard. I only realized afterwards how that must have come across. I would have seemed reluctant. But the thought had simply not occurred to me. I did not mean to imply that I would refuse, or even dislike such a thing."

“Cullen--,” Jane began, trying to stop him.

“You said you like traditions,” he continued, his eyes pleading, “and…. I--I wanted--. I mean, I had a plan. I’ve been to Longbourn.” A flash of lightning lit up the room, and she could see his features even more clearly. He was apprehensive, but confident, she could tell. He expected her to accept. And why would he not? Her stomach turned. Thunder rumbled as he continued. “I spoke with your parents. And I have a ring--it’s back at Skyhold, of course. But Maker, I should have just _told_ you. It wasn't until we spoke at Skyhold that I realized what you must have thought.” He stepped forward her, his eyes fond and focused and full of hope. Jane stiffened. “Marry me.”

Her tongue was too thick for words.

He mistook her speechlessness for surprise, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I--I know these aren’t the most ideal circumstances. In my mind, I had--. You were--.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you know. _This_ is what I want. Us. Together. You, as my wife. Since we spoke, I’ve thought of little else. I don't care what happens during the negotiations, or what's to come in the future. I care for _you._  Please: marry me.”

Jane closed her eyes, clutching her arms, trying to tame the wild sea of emotion inside her chest. “No,” she whispered.

The word rang in the room, louder than the roar of the rain on the windows despite how softly it’d been spoken. For a long moment, there was no reply. When she opened her eyes, she saw Cullen, looking more confused than hurt.

“I should wait, then,” Cullen said, doubtfully. “For… for the Exalted Council to be over? Is that what you mean?”

“No,” Jane said. “I don’t—. I can’t marry you. At all.”

Cullen’s face shifted from confused to stunned. “What?”

“I can’t marry you.”

There was a beat. “I don't understand. Is this about what happened in the Basin? Or--or your father?”

“No,” Jane said softly. “It’s not.” She looked him in the eyes. “I'm refusing you, Cullen.”

Cullen stared at her. “But you said--.” He stopped, then began again. “I had thought--.”

She stood firm. His expression changed, pain crashing across his face. Jane forced herself to stay where she was, armed herself for him pleading and demanding a reason.

His gaze hardened. He blinked twice and lifted his chin, his nostrils flaring. “I see.”

She looked down. Cullen was a man so used to disappointment that he would not even question her. His posture became more like the one he wore in the war room.

“I see. Then I apologize for this. If you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “I hope you rest well, Inquisitor.”

He left the room. Relief and agony and self-recrimination battled in Jane’s chest. Whatever the cost, it was over. It was finished. She let his footsteps vanish into the din of the storm before following him down the hallway, heading for the stairs, thinking _it’s done, it’s done, it’s done._

 

~~~

 

When Jane got to her room, she closed the door gently with both hands. It clicked shut. She paused, her head hanging forward. Her room was still and quiet, the only sound the beating of the rain against her windows and the occasional roll of thunder. The longer she stood, her hands resting on the varnished wood, the harder it became to move. It was as if the moment were frozen in time--as if she were under some kind of spell and did not have the power to break it.

Air. She needed air. It was too hot, and she was still in her uniform. With a deep, inhale, she found the strength to move. Her feet took her toward the balcony. She tore open the Orlesian doors, letting a strong gust of wind in, and the glass shuddered as the frames banged the walls. The air rushed past her, tossling the lace curtains.

Drops of water hit Jane’s face and neck and hair, cool and enticing, like fingers grazing her cheek. The heavy rain made puddles dance on the floor of the balcony. The next breath Jane took was crisp. Clean. Something in her chest tugged her forward--but her uniform felt like an anchor, pulling her back. She began to unbutton her jacket. It slid off her shoulders, over her sleeveless undershirt, falling to the floor. Her boots and socks went, too. As she stripped, she began stalking forward, lured by the sound, the feel, of the rain. Her trousers were shed next, abandoned by the doorway. Then her right glove. Her left. The band that held her hair together.  

Finally she stood in the middle of the balcony, clothed only in her smalls, her breastband and an undershirt. Her skin pebbled, goosebumps rising to meet the rain. She shivered. Water pounded down on her body, scouring her like cold fire, cleansing her of the shame, the guilt, the grief, the fear. It trickled down her broad shoulders, her arms, her wrists, rinsing the salt of the night from her back, mapping new veins on her legs and thighs. The downpour was so thick that when the sky flashed, it looked like there were tiny chains quivering around her, hung up by pins to shake in the wind. The world was shrouded. The endless sigh of the rain muted all other sounds. It felt as though she’d crossed the Veil again, but got caught somewhere between.

Jane closed her eyes and let her face turn upward. Her hair lay flat against her spine, clinging to her skin in thick, wet tendrils. She breathed in the unsullied air, filling her lungs, and when she breathed out, she let the aching in her chest go with it.

 _“The Maker is with us,”_ she whispered. _“His Light shall be our banner.”_ The words were lost in the noise, the wind stealing them off her lips as soon as she spoke them. Still, she continued. _“And we shall bear it through the gates of that city and deliver it. At last, the Light shall shine upon all creation.”_

Her eyes opened. She blinked away the rainwater and tears, cold and hot wetness mixing on her cheeks.

 _“At last, the Light shall shine upon all creation,”_ she repeated.

The rain began to lessen. The worst of the storm had passed. It was ending. Soon, it would be gone, replaced by clear skies and sunrise and the sounds of morning. Jane stared into the darkness and prayed to a god she knew would not listen.

 _“At last, the Light shall shine upon all creation,”_ she said once more, begging the empty night for some semblance of deliverance. _“If we are only strong enough to carry it.”_

 


	5. as the moth sees light

Jane’s hair was still damp when Odette woke her in the morning. Sunlight spilled across the room, making her dry eyes burn. Her chest felt empty, but lighter, as if something in the rain had washed away the weight she could not carry. She placed her feet on the ground, glancing out toward the balcony. Negotiations began in a matter of hours. Her mind flashed to her anchor, and then to Cullen.

 _Not now,_ she told herself firmly. _Not yet._ Taking a deep breath, she pictured Skyhold. There were people there, people who needed her, who relied on her. She erased everything from her mind that was not the Inquisition.  

It was easier than it had been the night before.

She dressed informally for Josephine’s meeting, slipping on a white shirt and gurgut leather gloves that Lizzie had made for her ages ago. Her uniform had been pressed and laid out on a chair. A servant must have collected it from the floor sometime during the night. The realization unsettled her, leaving her with the uneasy sensation of being watched.

She was the first to reach the library. As she waited for the others, she clenched and unclenched her hands at her side. There was no map to look at, so her eyes ran over the books on the bookshelf. Whoever owned the _chateau_ had a fascination with risqué Antivan romances, she noticed with distant amusement.

Leliana and Josephine entered together a few minutes later, chatting about the weather. It was much cooler following the previous night’s storm, they said, which boded well for the meeting. Tempers would not be as high. Jane half-listened, replying politely when she had to.

Cullen came last. He had the look of a man who had not slept or shaved. His expression stayed blank; he reviewed a pile of notes with professional care, barely acknowledging a greeting from Leliana.

Jane looked back at the shelves, avoiding everyone’s gaze. She and Cullen had always been good at separating the personal and the professional. This would be no exception. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Josephine and Leliana fall silent and exchange a quick glance. They could sense some tension, even if they weren’t aware of the exact circumstances.

But there was work to be done.

“Good morning,” she said, folding her arms behind her back and straightening. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes,” Josephine said briskly. “Time is of the essence.”

The topic that Josephine so wished to discuss was their case to the Exalted Council. The central theme of Ferelden’s complaint was power--namely, anything that fell under the umbrella of sovereignty and influence. In the end, the negotiations would come down to whether the Council believed the Inquisition’s existence was beneficial to Thedas. Jane felt their strongest defense was that while they maintained power, they’d not used any of their leverage since peace had been established, opting to remain on the sidelines once the war was over.

Leliana disagreed. “That will hold water with Orlais, perhaps,” she warned Jane. “But Ferelden will mention that our… less visible work is still at play.”

“Our spies are, you mean,” Jane said plainly.

“Yes.”

Jane sighed. Espionage was the one thing she steered clear of whenever possible. It was… messy, and she preferred to avoid messy, leaving most of it to Leliana.

“And how do you recommend that we respond?” she asked.

Leliana shrugged. “We could be honest. Our presence in the Ferelden court is minimal. However, that response admits that it exists at all.”

“Which Orlais wouldn’t like,” Jane guessed.

“Precisely,” Leliana replied.

Orlais liked to keep everything behind closed doors. Outright admitting something that scandalous would be considered a poor move. While normally, they’d simply sniff and move on, Celene’s bid for the Inquisition would force them to make a vocal objection.

Cullen turned to Leliana. “You’ve warned me which of my men were Anora’s or Celene’s in the past. Can’t we just mention them? Draw attention to the hypocrisy?”

“No,” Leliana said with a shake of her head. “Monitoring the actions of a large organization would not be considered an equal offense to infiltrating top levels of a foreign government. And if we equate them, we are essentially arguing that _we_ are a foreign government.”

“That would certainly complicate things,” Josephine muttered.

“So what do we do?” Jane asked.

“Denial is always an option,” Leliana said.

Jane frowned. “Would they believe us?”

“I doubt it,” Leliana said. “But they would not push the matter. In fact, were I in their shoes, that is the response I would hope for.”

Jane tossed her a confused glance. “Why?”

“For the same reason I would label it a risk,” Leliana explained. “Say they do not get what they want out of _this_ summit. If someone catches an Inquisition spy in the future, someone in Ferelden, say, or… anywhere else, really….” She trailed off.

“We’d be on record as liars,” Jane said. “Of course.” She bit her lip.

“We could deflect,” Josephine suggested. “Change the conversation. Ferelden brings up the fact that we collect intelligence, intending to criticize us, and we instead discuss how the South has profited from that very same intelligence.”

“How do you mean?” Jane asked.

“The information we gathered regarding the Qun,” Josephine said. She paused, and Jane looked at her blankly. Josephine sighed, going into more detail. _“If_ you recall, they appear to be focusing on a large project, far to the North. Our information was shared with Ferelden and Orlais, via the Chantry, and they have put it to good use.”

Leliana clarified, “A fraught Tevinter and a distracted Qun meant that Anora and Celene were able to focus on recovering from the recent wars, rather than strengthen their defenses.”

Cullen scowled. “How exactly is that different than admitting we have spies?”

“We are implying,” Leliana said with a small smile. “There is a difference, in the Game. And it is the Qun, no one will leap to their defense.”

Josephine looked at her board, pursing her lips. “On the other hand, we were planning to bring this up later, when discussing favorable things the Inquisition has done since Corypheus. Would it be wiser to hold back?”

Leliana shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps it is worth mentioning twice.”

Jane agreed. “If it’s a win, it’s a win. We’ll mention it twice.”

“Very well.” Josephine made a note and then looked over her board. “Ah. And then there is the matter of Caer Bronach. Ferelden would like total ownership returned to them by the end of the year.”

“Which I recommend against,” Cullen said, stiffening.  

“It _is_ in Ferelden,” Josephine said, a little doubtfully. “By law, they should have the right to the fortress.” She tilted her head. “But one could hardly call it an occupation, and it would be a loss for our army.” She twirled her quill, thinking. “Perhaps we can keep a garrison there, under Ferelden leadership?”

“An organization holding territory is not unheard of,” Cullen argued. “The Wardens have outposts almost everywhere. Ones they control. And templars are settled in every Southern Circle, last I checked. Their loyalties lie within the Chantry.”

“Allegedly,” Leliana said dryly.

There was a split within the Order on whether or not the templars backed Divine Victoria. Enough remained to man the new circles, but a sizeable group had left the Chantry for good. Whether their concerns were based on Victoria’s magic or the severeness of her policies was unclear.

“And so it comes down to how helpful we are, once again,” Josephine sighed.

“No,” said Jane. “I say we give it to them.”

Cullen looked up. _“What?”_ he asked, clearly surprised.

“We are neither the Chantry, nor the Grey Wardens,” Jane said. “The Chantry serves the Maker, and the Wardens are the only defense against the next Blight. What right does the Inquisition have to maintain a holding in Ferelden, if they do not want us there?”

“But Ferelden has recognized our importance as a peacekeeping organization in the past,” Cullen insisted. “They _asked_ _us_ to negotiate, on their behalf, with Orlais.”

“Two years ago,” Leliana added. “Obviously, times have changed.”

“We do not need Caer Bronach to keep the peace,” Jane said, glancing to the side.

“Every holding helps,” Cullen told her. “You _know_ that.”

Jane shook her her head, ignoring the desperate edge that had crept into his voice. “It isn’t ours. And we need to be willing to meet Anora half way.”

There was a pause. “You’re not even going to fight for it,” Cullen realized.

A note in his tone made Jane look up at him. There was a crack in his expression, a hurt beneath the surface that accused her of something else, something worse. It nearly broke her focus. She squeezed a fist, anchoring herself.

“Caer Bronach is a concession I’m willing to make,” she said. “If it helps the Inquisition, Anora can have it.”

Cullen crossed his arms. “I did not realize we were here to make concessions,” he said, his body tensing.

Jane held his gaze. “We are _here_ to save the Inquisition.”

Cullen clenched his jaw and looked away.

Josephine darted her eyes between them. When neither spoke again, she took the opportunity to clear her throat and move on. “Next item,” she said, a little too brightly. “It is likely that Ferelden will at least reference our influence on the Divine election. Which… remains controversial.”

“Fortunately, they cannot do more than hint at their suspicions,” Leliana pointed out. “Not in front of Victoria herself.”

“But our position is precarious enough that even hints are dangerous,” Josephine insisted. She raised an eyebrow at Leliana. “I believe having the… original candidates praise the Divine’s leadership could help. Casually, of course. Nothing official. Just to emphasize that the Inquisition would have had _some_ level of influence over _any_ Divine. ”

Leliana paused, then nodded. “I would be happy to approach a few of the ambassadors.”

Josephine hesitated. “It would be most effective if _both_ candidates did so.”

The room was silent. Cullen shifted, and Jane examined the floor. Clearly, the growing strain between Cassandra and the Divine was not just obvious to Jane. It was strange, she thought. She’d once considered them the most aligned in ideals of any of her companions. Clearly, they’d split paths somewhere along the way.

“Cassandra would do it,” Leliana decided after a beat. “She knows what is at stake. I will talk to her.”

Jane was relieved. Better it come from Leliana, who had never seen eye-to-eye with Victoria, than the woman who’d put her on the Sunburst Throne.

Debate continued for the better part of an hour. Toward the end, Josephine had to stop them mid-discussion. She went through the names of all the visiting ambassadors, making Jane repeat each one back to her with the proper pronunciation. The list included, much to Jane’s surprise, a Dorian Pavus of Tevinter and a Viscount Varric Tethras of Kirkwall.

Leliana smirked at Jane’s raised eyebrows. “It would seem that the Inquisition has gained more friends in powerful places while you were away,” she observed.

“I’m glad for them,” Jane said sincerely.

Finally, Josephine declared the meeting over. Jane thanked whatever stars had aligned when Cullen left the room without looking back. She could not help but watch him for a moment, her heart clenching at the sight of him retreating, his shoulders as rigid as steel. She turned to her other advisers. Josephine’s confusion softened into concern, but if the ambassador was wondering what had occurred between Cullen and Jane, she kept her curiosity to herself.

“Time to prepare,” she said instead, a tight smile on her lips as she met Jane’s eyes. “Please remember to meet at the foyer at eight, sharp. I will see you both soon.”

 

~~~

 

Back in her room, Jane took off her gloves and studied the anchor. It was still stable, but brighter, hissing with static energy. The pressure of Lizzie’s magic was not as strong as it had been the night before. It would hold until that evening--still, she’d prefer to have her sister look at it before the negotiations. She wondered if she could convince Lizzie to suppress it again.

She dropped her hand to her lap with a sigh. Probably not.

A typical Orlesian breakfast had been placed on her vanity--a tray of pastries and fruits, plus a cup of tea with cream and sugar. Jane usually avoided anything too sweet before lunch, having been told it was bad for her training, but there was hardly a point now. Sitting at the vanity, she ate two flaky tarts dusted with fine sugar, one lemon and one berry. She had to admit, as she licked the last bit of lemon custard off her thumb, that the Orlesians excelled at the art of cooking. According to Josephine, as much thought had gone into the menus at the summit as into the talks themselves.

After she finished donning her uniform, she tugged the rope by her door twice. A knock came a moment later. Odette slipped in and bobbed a curtsey. Without being asked, she began to gather the remnants of Jane’s breakfast.

“Good morning,” Jane greeted her. “When you’re done, could you please find my sister? I need to speak with her.”

Odette looked up, surprised. “Lady Elizabeth is not here,” she said, her accent sharpening the vowels. “She--she left early. With Master Tethras.”

“Left? To go where?” Jane asked.

“The palace, I think,” Odette said. “She asked me if she would need special permission to go inside. I told her no. The Inquisition is welcome anywhere in Halamshiral.”

Jane glanced out the window, across the lake. She rubbed her finger and her thumb together, wondering what Lizzie would need inside of the palace.

“May I get you anything else, Inquisitor?” Odette asked behind her. “More tea?”

“No. Thank you, Odette,” Jane said, distracted. “I’ll ring if I need you.”

As the elf left, Jane sat back down at the vanity and looked at her reflection. She did not look well. There were pale blue shadows beneath her eyes, and the faint wrinkles on her forehead looked deeper than usual. She preferred not to use the flesh-colored cream Leliana provided, but after a moment’s hesitation, she pulled the porcelain jar forward and removed its golden lid. After all, if there was ever a time she needed to look healthier than she was, it was now.

She pressed her fingers in the thick liquid. Dabbing a little beneath her eyes before rubbing, she blended it into her skin, until the shadows all but disappeared.

 

~~~

 

The carriage ride was quick and quiet. There was very little conversation. Cullen sat diagonal from her, the same flat expression on his face as he stared out the window. Jane caught herself glancing at him, wondering whether she’d done the right thing. If she’d only had a little more time to think everything through--

She dug her fingers into her knees. It was done. And a resolution was better than leaving loose threads untied. That was one thing Cassandra had taught her over the years, one thing she had to believe was true. There would always be a deluge of self-doubt somewhere inside her; if she let too many drops out, she would very likely drown. She needed to focus on what she could control.

As they arrived, they passed by rows and rows of soldiers, marked first for Orlais then Ferelden, and lastly the Inquisition. Jane’s eyes scanned over their heads, counting until she couldn’t keep track any longer. There were dozens of them here in Halamshiral, all sworn to her banner, and hundreds more back home. It was a sharp reminder, of the number of people who had willingly signed on to attain a more stable future for Thedas.

Jane straightened, hoping she'd prove herself worthy of their loyalty.

The carriage came to a stop at the front gate. There was less than an hour until the summit began. Cullen said he needed to discuss a matter with the guard, and Leliana wandered toward the balconies. Josephine suggested that Jane mingle and speak with the Divine, but Jane wanted to find Lizzie first. She kept her head down as she entered the palace, ignoring the few unfamiliar masks and faces that turned in surprise as she passed.

The vestibule was empty and sunlit, bright and clean. It always amazed Jane how quickly Orlesians could put a space back in order. There was no hint of the previous night’s festivities. In Ferelden, there’d have been a few forgotten silks draped over the bannisters, and a splatter of wax on the floor where the candelabra had sat. In the Free Marches, no one would have bothered cleaning up at all. But here in Orlais, the room was pristine, gleaming, ready for matters of great importance to be decided where drunk nobles had been dancing just a few hours earlier.

Jane felt a dull throb in her palm and looked down. The anchor hissed. To her surprise, a thin strip of light was visible through the thick leather of the glove, and a spark circled her hand.

Her lips tightened. That was… different.

“Inquisitor?”

Jane snapped her fingers into a fist, startled. “Mother Giselle,” she said, placing her hand behind her back.

“Good morning, Your Worship,” Mother Giselle said, coming to a stop in front of her. “How wonderful to see you. It has been too long.” Her warm eyes became sad. “I am most sorry to hear about your father. May the Maker bring your family some peace in this difficult time.”

“Thank you,” Jane said evenly. “How have you been?”

Mother Giselle clasped her hands in front of her chest. “I have been well. I spent the early part of the summer in Emprise du Lion, distributing food from the Exalted Plains. The Dales are finally recovering. I have high hopes that the worst is behind us.” She inclined her head in a nod. “I should mention that your forces at Suledin Keep were of great help.”

Jane raised her eyebrows. “Were they? Desjardins will be pleased to hear that.”

Mother Giselle glanced toward the door. “Divine Victoria is currently attending to the Ferelden ambassador’s concerns in the gardens. If you’d like, I can fetch her.”

“There’s no need,” Jane said. “I’ll find her later.” She glanced around the hall. “You haven’t seen my sister by any chance, have you?”

“Elizabeth?” Mother Giselle asked. Jane nodded. “I have, in fact. Just a moment ago. She is in the library.”

A bell rang in Jane’s mind. The first time that the Inquisition had been at the Winter Palace, Lizzie had… shared a moment in the library, with Solas. She’d found out later, when Lydia had gossipped about it at her mother’s party. It was unlike Lizzie to dwell on the past, but perhaps she’d been drawn there by the memory anyway. Jane felt a sympathetic twinge.

Mother Giselle was speaking, and Jane forced herself to focus. “--but I am sure a few of the ambassadors will wish to speak with you before the Exalted Council begins.”

“Of course,” she said out loud. “Thank you, Mother Giselle.”

“If I may--,” Mother Giselle said, before Jane could leave. “I am curious.” Her eyes darted away, then back to Jane’s. “Ferelden would have the Inquisition disband. Orlais sees its power as another feather in a chevalier’s helmet. What do _you_ wish to do with the Inquisition?”

Jane weighed the question. She knew what Giselle was really asking. An early conversation they’d had at Haven came to mind, when Mother Giselle had first told Jane about the Inquisition of late. She’d said that they’d laid down their sword when their work was done. It was, in Giselle’s view, a noble and honest choice.

Jane studied Mother Giselle. She considered telling her the truth-- that it was slightly more accurate to say that they’d only lowered their banners to raise new ones. That they’d continued to fight until they’d lost their sword, leaving him for dead beneath the rocks and ice of the Frostback mountains, over 800 years ago.

But it did not seem the time or place.

“Our work is not finished,” she said instead. “The Inquisition won’t be going anywhere.”

Mother Giselle hid the disappointment well, if she felt it. “Then I wish you the best of luck, Inquisitor. Maker watch over you.”

Jane bowed her head in response, then walked off to find her sister, carefully keeping her hand out of sight.  

 

~~~

 

When Jane entered the library, Lizzie was seated at one of the long tables. She was surrounded by opened books, her head cradled in one hand and a quill in the other. A cup of tea was perched on the edge of the table. The door creaked as Jane opened it, and Lizzie half-turned, glancing over her shoulder.

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “Good morning.”

“How are you feeling?” Jane asked.

“Tired,” Lizzie yawned, stretching. She put down her quill. “I didn’t realize you’d be here so soon. What time is it?”

“Just after eight.” Jane glanced around. “Are you… doing research?”

Lizzie rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand. “Um… yes. I might have found something. A solution. A temporary one, at least. For the anchor.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean….”

“Something to stabilize it, yes,” Lizzie said. “Dorian’s here. We were talking, and he suggested--.” She caught Jane’s expression and backtracked, sitting straighter. “Oh, no. I didn’t tell him anything. I framed it as… possible research about Fade rifts, in case they start up again. The magic is similar. Don’t worry, he doesn’t suspect anything.” She huffed, looking a little wistful. “Dorian always did love a hypothetical question. I barely had to say two words before he was spouting off a dozen different theories.”

Jane relaxed. “So what did he say?” she asked.

“He suggested we not use magic at all,” Lizzie said, pulling one book in front of her. “That we weaken the connection to the Fade instead. You know, like what templars and seekers do to mages.” She flipped through the book, reading intently as she found the right page. “It’s so obvious. I’m an idiot for not thinking of it earlier. See, here. In the Storm Age, they used a dozen templars to cleanse a stone that had been Fade-touched.”

“Fade-touched?” Jane asked, doubtfully, looking at her hand.

“It should work the same way,” Lizzie assured her. “We’ll need to test it first. Cassandra can cast something on it to make sure I’m right.” Lizzie looked up, suddenly nervous. She dropped her gaze. “And if it works….” She trailed off and was silent.

“If it works?” Jane prompted.

“Well, ah,” Lizzie said, a wince deepening on her face, “you might not like this part.” She sighed. “Look, it will help if Cassandra does it, but I think it would be even better if the magic was more… direct.” Her words slowed. “And obviously, there’s a way to give _you_ … the power to control it.” She paused. “From within. Temporarily. Just until I figure out a long-term cure.”

It took a moment for Jane to register what her sister was saying. Her eyes went wide. She jerked back, horrified.

“Lizzie,” she gasped. “You can’t be serious.”

“As I said, I’d be looking for a more permanent solution,” Lizzie said quickly. She leaned forward. “I promise you, with help, I think I can fix this. I just need more time.”

“I can’t take _lyrium,”_ Jane sputtered.

“Plenty of people do,” Lizzie said.

“And they become addicted,” Jane replied hotly. “They become addicted, and they lose their memories, and then they die. That’s what _you_ told me.”

“That doesn’t happen overnight,” Lizzie insisted. “It’s safer when taken in small quantities, and no one would be forcing your doses higher. _I’ve_ taken lyrium.” She gave her a desperate look. “If it could save your life, isn’t it worth trying?”

Jane closed her eyes, tamping down on her emotions. A shot at survival was tempting. But she remembered the worst of Cullen’s withdrawal, and her stomach turned.

“I don’t know,” she said. “There must be another way to weaken its connection.”

Lizzie exhaled. “I…. Yes. Maybe. But the other options are even worse.”

Jane glanced back at her sister, raising her eyebrows. “Worse than me taking lyrium?”

Lizzie looked like she would speak. She squeezed her eyes shut, her lips tightening. “Please, Jane. Let’s try this first. You… _we_ have to consider everything.”

Jane hesitated. She knew she was short on time. And if it helped…. If she wasn’t dying….

If Lizzie could save her….

Despite herself, hope bloomed in her chest.

 _No._ No. She couldn’t let herself wonder what that could mean. Not this close to the Exalted Council. She thought of the rows of soldiers and pushed the hope down.

“Fine, I’ll consider it,” Jane said firmly. “But not until after the summit is over.”

Lizzie sat back, relieved. “That’s all I ask,” she said. “Thank you.” She rubbed her fingers on her forehead, then gave Jane a more searching glance. “How is it today?”

Jane frowned and held out her palm. “I’m not sure. It seems brighter. It doesn’t feel very different, though.”

Lizzie took Jane’s hand. She looked confused, her eyebrows drawing together. “You’re right. It _is_ brighter. That’s strange.”

Jane felt a brush of magic. The mark dimmed. Lizzie tilted her head.

“Is it worse?”

“I have no idea,” Lizzie admitted, concerned. “I won’t be able to tell until it flares again.”

Jane watched her fingers flex under Lizzie’s attention. “Would you… consider suppressing it again, before the summit starts?”

Lizzie shot her a dark look. _“No._ I’ll sit with you.” She studied the mark thoughtfully. “Cassandra said Cillian would arrive soon. I should go look for him before the talks start. Fill him in. I kept my letter brief. We can sit with him tonight.”

Jane nodded. “And I need to find the Divine,” she said. “I’ll walk with you.”

Lizzie released Jane’s hand. “Give me one second.”

She notated a few page numbers before putting the books back into a neat pile for later. Jane watched, her mind elsewhere. She caught a glimpse of one of the titles.

“Is that _Au-delà de l'Accord?”_ she asked with some surprise. It was a dry Orlesian history on the founding of the Circle. Lord Trevelyan had an Orlesian copy at Longbourn, one she’d read years ago. She didn’t remember any magic techniques being discussed in it.

“Ah,” Lizzie said, glancing at the book. “Yes. It is. It’s… for something else.” She paused. “I’m researching what we can do for the mages.”

Jane felt a pinch of guilt. The topic had not come up when she was speaking with the council that morning. _There were a lot of things you didn’t cover,_ she reminded herself. _It was a rushed meeting. And you have been distracted._

But those were not excuses. It would have been an excellent time to get her advisers’ feedback. She cursed herself inwardly.

 _Tomorrow,_ she thought.

“I was thinking about Ameridan,” Lizzie continued as they headed toward the ballroom. “I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of system _he_ would have supported. Because, according to everything I’ve read, he would have been around when the Circle was being created, right?”

“I believe so,” Jane said.

They reached the vestibule. “And now we know he was a mage. I remembered something I read a few years ago, something that struck me as strange. The Nevarran Accord isn’t as specific as the Chantry likes to pretend. It doesn’t say that anything about Circles, not outright, nor any form of imprisonment. It only says that, with the help of the templars and the seekers, mages must be kept _‘under--’”_

“Jane!” a familiar voice said. “Andraste’s ass! Am I glad to see you.”

Jane glanced up. “Varric,” she said with a genuine smile as he approached, trailed by a tall man with red brown hair.

The dwarf embraced her with one arm, clapping her on the back. His other held a small pile of papers. “Too bad it’s for something stuffy and Orlesian, but oh, well. Could be worse, I guess.”

“Inquisitor,” the man behind Varric said.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Jane said.

“This is Bran,” Varric said. “He was the provisional Viscount of Kirkwall, until recently. Now he’s my seneschal.”

“Technically, I am the seneschal of the city of _Kirkwall,”_ Bran corrected in a tone that managed to sound both bored and exasperated.

“Yeah, but at the end of the day, who lives in the office you’re seneschal-ing?”

Bran glared. “Seneschal is _not_ a verb.”

“Right,” Varric said, snapping his fingers. “Sorry. Easy to forget about little things like that when you’re viscount-ing.”

As Bran’s eyes flicked to the ceiling in silent prayer, Jane turned back to Varric. “That’s right!” she said. “I heard. Allow me to congratulate you on behalf of the Inquisition.”

Varric grinned. “Oh, I already received a _very_ generous gift from you guys.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Big fruit basket, wrapped in parchment and everything.”

“That must have been Josephine,” Lizzie said to Jane.

Varric chuckled. “That was my first thought, too. Until I noticed the fake snake that was supposed to jump out of the bottom when someone opened it.”

Jane made a face. “Oh, Maker, _Sera._ I’m so sorry--”

“No need,” Varric said, stopping her. “Luckily, I have an eye for that kind of thing. Caught the false bottom the moment I saw it. So I sent it straight on to Starkhaven without opening it.”

Bran paled. “You did _what?”_

“It was the Prince’s birthday,” Varric said, waving him off. “Come on. I’m having a conversation with a friend. Give me a few moments, okay?”

Bran didn’t look pleased, but he did retreat back toward the entrance.

“Anyway,” Varric said. “Look, I was hoping to catch you before the summit got underway. I got you a sort of present.” He pulled out a paper and passed it to her. “Proof of your holdings and title in Kirkwall. Congratulations. You’re a comtesse now.”

That got Bran’s attention. He stepped forward again. “You can’t actually do that--”

“Too late,” Varric said. “I already did.”

Bran scowled, returning to his previous position.

Jane stared at the paper. “Varric, are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She shook her head. “This is really too much.”

Varric shrugged. “Well. It’s not entirely a selfless act. I want to make sure you and Curly visit. I have a feeling Kirkwall will be a hard sell for him.” Jane opened her mouth, then shut it again, looking away. “But this estate’s in Hightown. Newer part of the city. It’s pretty nice. For Kirkwall.”

“Thank you,” Jane said sincerely. She glanced at her sister, who’d always been closer to Varric. “And when I’m not there, I’m sure Lizzie could take up residence?” she suggested, hopefully. She suspected that Varric would have preferred to give Lizzie the holdings outright, but as a mage, she could not own property.

“Oh, I already told Blaze she has her own room in the Keep,” Varric said with a grin. “As long as she doesn’t mind sharing with a giant mabari.” His eyes darted to the door behind him. “Though from what I saw this morning, something tells me you’re gonna have that problem, too.” Before Jane could ask what he meant, he patted her on the arm, fondly. “Listen, I need to prepare for the talks, and I bet Josie would have a conniption if you don’t make an appearance out there sometime before we start.”

Jane had to admit that was probably true.

Varric gave her a short bow. “Until later, Inquisitor.”

As they walked away, Jane turned to her sister.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “You were saying. The Nevarran Accord?”

Lizzie shook her head. “Go ahead. Varric’s right. You should make the rounds. And I want to track down Cillian.”

“If you’re sure,” Jane said.

Her sister offered her a thin smile, and then was off, slipping through the front door. Jane gave herself a moment to straighten her uniform. Then she followed, blinking back the sun.

 

~~~

 

Jane found Divine Victoria on a veranda over one of the palace’s many gardens. Victoria was deep in discussion with a man in Ferelden dress. Her eyes were hard, but they warmed when she spotted Jane. She beckoned her over. After they greeted one another, Victoria introduced the man as Arl Teagan, the representative from Ferelden.

Jane stiffened slightly, preparing herself for the worst.

But to her surprise, he bowed. “Good to meet you, Inquisitor,” he said, with more sincerity and respect than Jane had anticipated.   

“Likewise,” Jane replied pleasantly. She glanced at Victoria before giving him an apologetic smile. “I had been hoping to steal a moment of the Divine’s time….”

“Of course,” Teagan said. “I will see you both in the palace.” He inclined his head again. “Your Perfection.”

As he walked away, Victoria turned to Jane with a pleased look. “Darling, you made it. Welcome. Tell me, how is your father?”

Jane let her face fall for a moment. “Not well,” she admitted. She tried to sound less grieved. “But he is… at peace with his situation, I believe. My youngest sisters are with him, and he seems as comfortable as he can be.”

Victoria studied her sympathetically. “I was so sorry to hear of his illness,” she said. “Bastien was fond of him, you know. The Chantry will do whatever it can to make this time less difficult for your family.”

“Thank you,” Jane said. “That's very kind of you.” She looked past Victoria’s shoulder, changing the subject. “So. That was Arl Teagan. He is not the man I expected. He’s very polite.”

Victoria followed her gaze. “Ah. That would be because you did not speak to him about the many supposed sins of your Inquisition,” she explained dryly. “On _that_ subject, he is a little less civil.” Jane frowned, and Victoria softened, laying a hand on her arm. “Do not fret, Jane. I promise you, the Inquisition has the full support of the Chantry at this summit.  Not just as your ally, but as your friend.”

“Thank you.” Jane looked down, wondering how deep that friendship ran. After a moment, she decided to take her chances. “I was… hoping to speak with you about something, actually. A favor.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“The mages.” She paused, then clarified. “The Inquisition mages, I mean.” Victoria straightened, her expression closing off. “You’ve honored your end of our deal and let them stay at Skyhold, without incident. Thank you for that. But this summit has highlighted--well, some problems with that arrangement.”

“Has it?” Victoria asked, a flicker of interest in her eyes.

Jane squeezed her hand, feeling the buried power within. “If the Inquisition ceased to exist--if anything were to… interfere with my position...,” she said. She bit her lip. “I would like to create something more permanent. Something for the mages, in case anything happens to us.”

“Really? Whatever for?” Victoria asked, tilting her head. She looked baffled. “That defeats the purpose, doesn't it? Your mages remain with you because, for better or worse, they serve the Inquisition. Were there no Inquisition, that would no longer be the case.”

“Well… I’d like to protect them,” Jane explained.

Victoria raised her eyebrows. “Protect them from what?” Jane hesitated. Realization dawned in Victoria’s eye, and she chuckled, surprised. She gave Jane an indulgent smile, the kind one would give an errant but charming child. “Ah. From the Circle. I see.”

“I--,” Jane began. She stopped, unable to find the words.

Victoria shook her head, amused. She gazed out at the crowd that was gathering before the talks began. “Walk with me,” she offered, holding out an arm.

Jane took it. Victoria led them toward the empty part of the promenade, her gait slow and purposeful. Peoples’ eyes turned their way, taking in the sight of the Divine and the Inquisitor walking arm in arm. Victoria ignored them. Her guards followed at a distance.

She turned her focus on Jane. “Darling, let me explain something to you, something many people tend to forget.” She paused, giving them a little distance from the crowd. “It is true that the Circle protects people from mages, yes. But that is not its sole purpose--or even its primary purpose, one might argue.” She spoke slowly, enunciating her words. “You see, _the Circle protects mages._ ” Her eyes met Jane's, and she must have seen the doubt there. “It’s true. I realize that there have been a few rare outliers, such as Kirkwall. But _that_ was the product of poor leadership, not of flaws inherent within the system. Much like the Wardens. And under my reign, poor leadership will not be tolerated.”

“Not every mage who rebelled was from Kirkwall,” Jane pointed out.

“Indeed,” Victoria said with a frown. “There will always be those who blame their dearth of character on their circumstances. And so there are mages who argue that the Circle is the reason they cannot succeed. But Jane, dear, _nothing_ could be further from the truth. The Circle is not a prison. It is an opportunity. Every apprentice, regardless of race or background, receives a formal education on how to hone and control their magic. And every enchanter is given the chance to join the highest ranks, once they earn their way.” She gave Jane a small smile. “In fact, one could say that the Circle is the most egalitarian system in the world. Where else can an elf born in an alienage with a bit of drive and dedication rise to a title as lofty as First Enchanter, if he proves himself worthy?” Her smile sharpened, as if she were including Jane in on a joke. “And how else could a poor young girl born in the Free Marches dream of one day becoming Divine? The Chant warns us about magic, but also calls it a gift from the Maker. Nowhere is that more evident than the Circle.”

Jane hesitated. “But surely some mages should be allowed to choose for themselves. That elf from the alienage you mentioned--if he fell in love and wanted to return home, to marry--"

Victoria cut her off with a stern, but affectionate, look. “You forget to consider that magic _is_ dangerous. We cannot allow it to go unchecked. That is why the Circle is necessary. Rigorous training ensures that the mages who succeed are strong-willed.”

Jane looked down. She knew better than most people how dangerous magic could be. She’d fought the Venatori, and seen the horrors in the ranks of the Wardens, all because a few mages were led astray. She had once experienced a dark and terrible future because a Tevinter mage wanted to save his only son. 

But then there was Lizzie. She thought of what her sister had said about the Inquisition’s students. _I know how Circles work, Jane. Some of them wouldn’t survive._

“What happens to the rest of them?” she asked finally.

Victoria’s gaze turned a little colder. “Weak mages, you mean.” She paused. “I will not lie to you. They do not fair well inside the Circle,” she admitted. Her voice became low and dangerous. “But a weak mage _outside_ the Circle?”  She shook her head, her expression dark. “That is much worse. Those poor things do not just fail themselves, darling. They take anyone in the vicinity with them.”

“There must be a more--,” Jane began, but before she could finish her sentence, a commotion to their right caught her attention. A man broke through a group of people in the courtyard below, lunging toward her and Victoria.

“Hey, your _Perfection,”_ the man called out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He threw something, and Jane automatically stepped in front of Victoria, pushing her back. The tomato he’d tossed splattered on the ground in front of them. Jane’s black pants were fine, but the hem of the Divine’s white robe became dappled in red juices. _“‘Magic exists to serve man,’”_ the man spat. “‘Not _to serve over him.’”_

He hadn't even finished his sentence before two of the Divine’s guards had taken him by both arms and were dragging him away.

“This woman is a fraud!” he exclaimed, kicking the ground. The guards were much stronger. “She’s a fucking mage! And a puppet!” He hacked some of his spit at the ground once, holding Jane's gaze. “Read the Chant! Read the Chant and pray for _salvation_ from this _corruption--”_

The guards turned a corner and disappeared from view, the man’s cries becoming indistinct.

The crowd’s silence broke into murmurs. Victoria looked disgusted, but schooled her expression into something calm. She looked at the crowd, forming a smile. “And the Inquisitor believed she missed _all_ the entertainment planned for this week,” she said in a dry tone, her expression as serene as it had been earlier.

The crowd relaxed instantly. A few people chuckled and returned to their conversations. Others peered around the corner, watching whatever became of the man.

Victoria’s eyes were bright, and her smile was too stiff when she returned to their conversation. “As you see, darling,” she said, taking Jane's hand in hers, “I am no stranger to the prejudice mages face. But believe me--the Circle is part of the solution, _not_ part of the problem.”

“I…,” Jane said, her head spinning. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said lamely, not truly believing it.

Victoria paused. She peered at Jane intently, as if her face were written in Tevene or some equally foreign tongue, and she was trying to read it. Jane, unused to the Divine’s scrutiny, tried not to wither under her stare.

After a few seconds, Victoria gave up on whatever she was looking for and squeezed Jane's hand gently, glancing down at her robes. “It appears I will need to change before the summit begins,” she murmured. Looking up, she added, with a fond smile, “Make no mistake, darling. I am glad you are here. The Inquisition _must_ survive, if we are to ensure the safety of the South. And to do _that,_ we must work within the confines of the systems that already exist. Including the Circle. That is where you and I have always agreed, is it not?”

Jane nodded. “Of course,” she said, though she was still unsettled.

“Good.” Victoria tilted her head. “At least some of us remember what is important. Until later, Inquisitor.”

She walked away, her guards following. Jane bit her lower lip. A year ago, two years ago, she would have taken Victoria at her word. She certainly sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and she had once been a Circle mage herself. But Cullen and Cassandra’s agitation over the state of the templars and Lizzie’s conviction when it came to the Circle made her pause. Her sister had a temper, and she could be too quick to judge, but she was not prone to exaggeration. If she said the Circle would hurt the Inquisition mages--then Jane was inclined to believe her.

Jane began to make her way toward the palace, her mind on the apostates she’d met since she’d been named the Herald of Andraste. She thought of Dorian, and Solas, and Cillian, and Hawke, and Morrigan, and wondered for the first time how they would fare in a Circle--how they'd _actually_ fare.

Perhaps not so well.

She sighed, rubbing her temple with a finger. She would need to speak with Lizzie before she could press the matter any further.

 

~~~

 

Two hours later, Jane sat in the same ballroom, staring at a row of ambassadors. Based on the information from Josephine, Jane had assumed that the Divine and the Inquisition would be seated together, at some manner of round table.  

That was not the case.

Everyone except the Inquisition was seated on a dias, higher up, while the Inquisition’s council--and Lizzie, much to Josephine’s chagrin--sat in front of them. There was quite a bit of distance. The rest of the room was filled with an audience, who Jane learned were members of the public.  

“Why do I get the sense that you’re on trial?” Lizzie murmured as Arl Teagan gave voice to Ferelden’s grievances.

Jane couldn’t disagree.

Victoria’s gaze was cooler than it had been in the garden, and she barely met Jane’s eye. Jane wondered if she'd misjudged their discussion.

Under the table, Lizzie kept her hand near Jane’s. There was no magic--the mark was still locked beneath Lizzie’s spell from last night, and whatever healing she had done that morning--but her sister was prepared to react quickly if there was. Josephine drummed her fingers as Teagan spoke, her mouth twitching downward at some of his claims. Her anxiety was contagious. Jane found herself fidgeting, and fought to keep herself from smoothing her hair.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw someone approach Leliana. Jane turned to look. The servant bent to whisper something urgently. Leliana blinked, then stood, excusing herself.

Jane frowned. Josephine caught the exchange as well, and glanced back, watching with a worried expression. Only when Teagan mentioned Caer Bronach did Josephine turn back, her attention re-focused.

“The Inquisition has already agreed to return Caer Bronach,” she stated firmly. Jane could sense Cullen shifting. “That was settled before this meeting began.”

Teagan was not the least bit mollified. “And what of the three years it was occupied? Might I remind you that it was stolen from the citizens of Crestwood?”

“Bandits stole it from the citizens of Crestwood,” Jane said. “We only took it from them.”

“So you claim,” the Arl said smoothly.

Jane tried again. “My lord, we apologize for any offense we may have caused--”

“I believe,” Josephine said quickly, holding a hand out to Jane, “that Queen Anora will find that the upgrades we made to the fortress are more than satisfactory as recompense--”

Jane sighed, leaning back. She was under strict instructions not to apologize if she could avoid it, and had forgotten. A moment later, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned. An elven servant leaned down and whispered, “Lady Leliana wishes to see you in the courtyard. At once.”

Jane glanced at Leliana’s empty chair and felt a flicker of worry. She did not think that anyone on her council would take _her_ out of negotiations for anything less than a grave emergency. She could feel Josephine staring at her and turned to give her an apologetic look.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said softly, her eyes widening as she realized. “You cannot--”

“I’m so--excuse me,” Jane said, first to Josephine. She repeated it to the room, her gaze meeting the startled Divine’s. “Excuse me. I just--. Please, if you would excuse me.”

She turned and followed the anxious elf out of the room. “What is the meaning of this?” she heard Teagan exclaim behind her.

The door shut behind her.

“What are you _doing?”_ a voice hissed. Jane glanced over her shoulder. Apparently, her sister had followed. “Are you out of your _mind?”_

“Something’s wrong,” Jane said. “Leliana sent for me.”

Lizzie tried to keep pace with Jane’s wider strides. “Is _she_ out of _her_ mind? I thought the whole point of this summit was to make everything seem _fine._ ”

“Yes, but--”

“This? This is not fine. You’re supposed to be saving the Inquisition,” Lizzie went on, angrily, as the elf led them out of the building. They went down the steps to the palace. “I thought that took priority over everything else. _That’s_ why you’ve been….” She paused, glancing at the elf. “Putting everything else on _hold.”_

“I trust Leliana,” Jane insisted. “Whatever this is, it’s important.”

“It better be,” Lizzie said under her breath.

 

~~~

 

The two sisters stared at the slumped corpse of the Qunari, their eyes wide. He was big--not quite as massive as the Iron Bull, but big. Leliana waited to the side, her arms crossed, staring at the ground with a pensive expression. Jane followed her gaze. A trail of still wet blood led back from the door, getting thinner as it led to the street.

“He must have crawled here,” Jane said.

“In broad daylight?” Lizzie asked, doubtfully. “With no one noticing?”

“Perhaps he was dragged,” Leliana considered. “Either way, none of this was here this morning. And the Qun has no representatives present.”

“So he snuck in.” Jane chewed on her lip. “Are we sure he’s not Tal-Vashoth?”

“It’s possible,” Leliana said. “But his armor is Qunari.”

Jane looked back at the body, her eyes tracing the curve of his helmet. “This is bad. Half of our case is built around the idea that we know what the Qun is up to.”

“Indeed. That is why I brought you here immediately.”

Jane exhaled, thinking. She glanced back at the trail of blood, then looked at Leliana. “Get Cassandra. No, wait--get Bull. I’m going to see where the trail leads.”

“I’ll come with you,” Lizzie said as Leliana left.

Jane hesitated, then relented.  “Come on, then.”

The two of them followed the blood across the courtyard. It went up the lattice in the garden, which Lizzie struggled to climb. How he’d managed to traverse the whole palace without being caught was unbelievable. Finally, the sisters ducked into an abandoned hallway that smelled stale and dusty.

“This makes no sense,” Jane said, making a face. “Why would he be here?”

“It’s remote,” Lizzie said. They reached a door. She tried the handle without any luck. “Good place to hide.”

Jane gave the door a shove with her shoulder. “If the Qun wanted to send a spy, they wouldn’t send one with horns.”

“They did once,” Lizzie pointed out.

Jane gave her a look. “Bull wasn't exactly hiding.”

“True,” Lizzie said. She eyed the door. “Together?” Jane nodded. “One, two, three…”

They slammed into the door and it cracked open. Jane froze. In the center of the room, there was an active eluvian. It hummed, its surface more like a lake than a mirror, with the veneer of a reflection on top and something deeper, barely visible, underneath.

There was a smear of blood on one side of its frame.

Jane heard Lizzie’s sharp intake of breath. After a beat, she looked at Jane. “You don’t think… there are more of them on the other side?”

Slowly, Jane nodded. She did. She very much did. If she were Varric, she would put quite a bit of money that the eluvian led to the Qun’s big project, far to the North. But with an eluvian, it did not matter _where_ they were planning. They could get anywhere they placed a second eluvian.

And two floors below her, high ranking officials from every country in the South and several in the North sat, sitting like ducks on a pond.

“Fuck,” Lizzie said, realizing the same thing.

“I’m going to need a ground team,” was Jane’s reply.

 

~~~

 

After thinking over her options, Jane had the elven servant pull Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric from the summit. She knew that Victoria would want to read her the Canticle of Trials for this later, but she had no idea how much time she had to act. She ordered a carriage to fetch her armor from the _chateau_. Lizzie volunteered to go as well, to pick out armor and weapons for the whole team. She was familiar enough with their sizes and preferences--save for Varric, who would have Bianca stashed somewhere nearby. Jane returned to Leliana, who was already speaking with the Iron Bull.

Once everyone was present except Lizzie, Jane brought them to the eluvian.

Bull considered the large mirror, stroking his chin as Leliana touched a bloody footprint, her brow low. “Wonder if a few others snuck through already,” he said. “I can do a sweep. Let you know if I see anything suspicious.”

“Please,” Jane said.

“Charter has some information on what we’ve found so far,” Leliana told him. “Would speaking with her help?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Bull said. “She down in the courtyard?”

Leliana nodded and made to leave. Bull took a few steps toward the door. He stopped next to Dorian, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Be careful out there, _kadan.”_

Dorian seemed intensely aware that they were not alone. His eyes darted toward the rest of them, but he offered Bull a small smile anyway. “I always am,” he said wryly.

Bull gave him a look. “We both know that’s a lie.” He pressed a firm kiss onto Dorian’s forehead. “Just--stay safe, alright?”

As Leliana and Bull left together, Dorian sighed. He glanced back at Jane.  “So we’re the ground team, I take it. The plan is… what exactly? We go into the mysterious eluvian and follow a blood trail through--.” He turned to Varric. “What did Morrigan call it again?”

“The Crossroads,” Varric supplied helpfully. He was watching Cassandra, who’d stepped closer to the mirror and narrowed her eyes at it, as if she could interrogate it into talking.

“Yes,” Dorian said. “Right. That. A blood trail through the Crossroads.” He looked into the middle distance. “Do things even _bleed_ there?”

“Yeah,” Varric said. Dorian cocked an eyebrow at him, disbelieving, and he shrugged. “I mean, I don't know. _I_ bled there.”

“We need to find out if this is a real invasion,” Jane said, half to hear herself say it. “That includes investigating the leads. Right now, all we have is a dead Qunari. So, yes. We go through the mysterious eluvian and follow a trail of blood through….”

As she was speaking, the door opened. Lizzie came in, with Jane’s shield thrown over her back and her sword strapped to her side. She also had two staffs tucked under her arm. Odette was with her, and between the two of them, they carried a chest, presumably of additional armor and weapons.

But none of that gave Jane pause. What gave Jane pause was that Lizzie had changed into her own light armor--white leathers with a Highever weave shirt, glinting gold in the slant of sunlight from the doorway.

“Lizzie, no,” Jane said firmly, turning to face her fully.

Lizzie sighed without speaking. She and Odette put down the trunk, and she slipped off the sword and shield, placing one staff beside her. Sticking her chin in the air, she put a hand on her hip and planted the other staff on the floor. Her stance brokered no argument.

“Thank you, Odette,” she said. “You can leave us now. And your…,” her eyes flicked to the servant, “discretion is greatly appreciated.”

Odette had been staring at the eluvian with amazed eyes. She tore her gaze away, as if noticing the rest of them for the first time. She flushed. Mumbling something incomprehensible, she curtsied and left.

 _“No,”_ Jane repeated as the door closed. “Lizzie. Remember Adamant?”

She regretted the reference as soon as she said it. Varric shifted uncomfortably, and Lizzie looked even more resolute. “You need me,” Lizzie said. “I’m the only one who can control the anchor.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to _come,”_ Jane said. “You can suppress it again.”

Lizzie’s glare turned hard. “No,” she said.

“Lizzie--”

“That makes it worse,” Lizzie said. “I’m not doing it again. Besides, we have no idea how long you’ll be in there.”

Varric glanced between the two of them. “What in the Void is she talking about?” he asked Jane, baffled.

“The anchor,” Cassandra said darkly, before Jane could reply. “It is worsening.” Jane shot her a desperate look, but Cassandra shook her head, a line between her eyes. “Lie all you want to the council, Inquisitor, but I will not allow the people you fight beside to be unprepared.”

“What exactly do you mean _‘it’s worsening’?”_ Dorian asked, his eyes now fixed on Jane’s hand. Jane couldn’t help but curl her fingers. “Worsening how?”

“It has… fits,” Cassandra said.

“You mean like after the Conclave?” Varric asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra said.

Varric frowned at Jane. “Shit. Does it hurt?”

Jane fought the urge to lie. “Sometimes,” she settled on.

“I can control it a little, but it needs constant attention,” Lizzie added. “Which is why I have to go with you.”

Dorian jerked his head up. He narrowed his eyes. “Elizabeth,” he said. “That question you asked me this morning--you aren’t trying to close Fade rifts, are you?”

She sighed. “No,” she admitted.

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “I should have known. Your questions are _never_ hypothetical.”

Jane looked at her sister. “If you come, you’ll just be putting yourself _and us_ in danger.”

“I’ll stay out of the way,” Lizzie said.

Jane rubbed her face tiredly. She knew she was smudging her makeup, but she didn’t care. “We might be fighting Qunari, Lizzie. Do you really think you’ll be able to _hide_ from them?”

“You know…,” Dorian began, thoughtfully.

“I’ll follow ten feet behind all of you,” Lizzie said to Jane. “And I’ll use a barrier.”

“If I may,” Dorian said, holding up a hand.

“And leave yourself completely vulnerable?” Jane asked her sister. “We _do_ get attacked from behind, you know.”

“Just a thought--,” Dorian tried again.

“I’m coming either way,” Lizzie warned. “You won’t be able to stop me. Even if you--”

“Elizabeth!” Cassandra exclaimed, aggravated. Lizzie was startled into silence, and Cassandra turned to Dorian, laying out a flat hand. “Speak.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said. He pulled a small, black ring out of his pocket. “I think I may have a solution.”

Lizzie eyed the ring. “Which is…?”

“This,” he said, twirling the object in his fingers, “is a Ring of Doubt. It’s a novelty gift of sorts, back home. Popular as a pre-wedding gift, for the right friend. The story goes that a Tevinter fellow was forced into a marriage with a lady he didn’t much care for--so he created one of these, to avoid her.”

“What does it do?” Cassandra asked.

Instead of explaining, Dorian demonstrated. Making a show of it by spreading out his hands, he slipped the ring on his pinkie finger. Three seconds later, he vanished. Jane blinked, staring at the space that had been Dorian. If she really focused, she could see a bit of distortion where he once was, but otherwise, he was gone.

“Maker,” Cassandra said under her breath, as Varric let out a slow whistle.

“How long does that last?” Jane said.

Varric added, “And why don’t we have a thousand of them, everywhere?”

Dorian’s voice answered, “It lasts until the wearee establishes a connection to the Fade.” While speaking, an orb of light appeared. Dorian materialized less than a second later, his palm beneath the orb. “By which I mean… until they use magic. As for why these aren’t everywhere--well. It only works for mages.” He took off the ring, offering it to Lizzie. “I can’t imagine that the Southern Chantry would enjoy a convenient, travel-sized disappearing act getting into their Circles.”

Lizzie stepped forward, giving him a little smile. “I wondered why you weren’t upset that you had to stay at the Winter Palace.” She slipped the ring on her finger. Her form vanished, but her voice continued. “You could sneak out whenever you wanted, couldn’t you?”

He flashed a smile at the place where Lizzie had just been.

“You still need to be careful,” Jane said. She would prefer her sister not come at all, but Maker knew Lizzie was stubborn. At least this would keep her marginally safe. “No magic when we’re under attack. And if we’re ambushed, disappear as quickly as possible and get yourself out.”

“I promise,” Lizzie’s voice said somewhere to the left of her.  

Jane accepted that this was as much of an assurance as she was going to get. She sighed. “Then we’d better get going.”

Each of them went to the chest. Lizzie took off the ring and helped them find the armor and weapons she’d chosen for them. After that, they changed facing away from each other.

Dorian joined Jane in the middle of the room when they’d finished. He crossed his arms, studying the eluvian. He let out a huff of air. “Feels a bit like old times, doesn't it? Someone should say something stirring. Varric?”

Varric strapped Bianca to his back and joined them. “What’d you have in mind, Sparkler?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we can start with the Inquisition motto?”

Varric scratched his chin. “Do we even have a motto?”

“We do not have a motto,” Cassandra informed them.

“We don’t?” Lizzie asked. She sounded genuinely surprised. She looked at Jane. “I thought it was _Into Darkness, Unafraid.”_

Jane shook her head. “No. That was the old Inquisition’s motto. Ameridan’s.”

“Well!” Dorian said. “Clearly we should make one of our own.”

 _“Into Weird Shit, Moderately Terrified?”_ Varric suggested.

“Varric,” Cassandra said sternly, glaring.

“What?” Varric said with a shrug. “It works.”

“Indeed,” Dorian agreed. “And unlike most of his work, you can’t fault it for accuracy.”

“Hey!” Varric exclaimed.

 _“Ugh,”_ Cassandra groaned.

Jane took a deep breath and stepped up to the eluvian. The others went quiet behind her as she reached out her hand, touching the shifting glass. It felt cold, like lake water, and trembled under her fingers. The mark seemed to react to it, stretching to meet its surface.

She swallowed. Varric’s motto may have been accurate, but it was Ameridan’s motto that echoed in her head. Letting the air out of her lungs, she walked through the mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aethusa is still the best and deserves kudos and cookies <3
> 
> I live and breathe comments, so consider leaving one if you're enjoying the work so far!


	6. those who oppose thee

 

The mirror led them to a part of the Crossroads that was unlike anything Jane had ever seen. She peered at her surroundings, trying to ignore the ache that spread behind her eyes. Craggy rocks loomed above her, creating massive formations that split the sky. She’d hesitate to call them mountains. The peaks were top-heavy, as if they should have collapsed ages ago. Eluvians sat on flat ledges ahead, connected by stone bridges.

The others came through behind her.

“Oh, this place is simply enchanting,” Dorian said, wincing against the light. He took a breath. “Is it _meant_ to feel like that? Or has some sort of protective spell faded over time?”

“Morrigan said it was made for the elves,” Jane explained. “It doesn’t like us.”

“Doesn’t like us?” Dorian asked, with a bit of wryness. “It barely knows us. Rude of it to make assumptions.”

Varric snorted. “And Tevinter culture is so warm and welcoming.”

“Point taken.”

The blood trail forked in two directions. Each path ended at an eluvian. One was dark and shadowed, so Jane went to the active one. This time, she remembered what to expect and stepped through. It was almost like being back on her balcony in the rain again, a veil of cool liquid and motion surrounding her. The sensation faded as soon as she reached the other side. She blinked. She was at the bottom of a stone staircase, in some sort of tower. As Cassandra stepped up beside her, she brushed her fingers against one of the walls. Something about the stonework looked vaguely familiar.

“Look,” Cassandra said. Her eyes were on the stairs. “More blood.”

Jane bit her lip. She glanced back. Varric and Dorian had joined them. “Lizzie?” she asked.

“Yes?” her sister’s voice replied.

Jane felt herself relax a fraction. “Just checking.”

Jane and Cassandra took the lead, climbing the stairs with their hands on their pommels. They emerged at the top, and Jane held up a hand to shield her eyes against the sun. They were above a flooded valley, where an ornate and ancient building sat in the middle of a lake. More towers, like their own, decorated the mountain range around them. Across the valley, one tall tower was topped with a veined sphere.

“Watchtowers?” Cassandra suggested, squinting at the structures.

Jane agreed. “Protecting whatever that is,” she said, nodding toward the building. “Or was.” Even at this distance, she could make out Qunari fighting within it. “It looks elven. Could it be a temple?”

“Perhaps.” Cassandra’s brow drew low. “But why would the Qunari be--”

The air shifted. A huge explosion rocked the valley, strong enough to shake the tower they stood on. Across the way, Jane saw a shimmering ball of golden light and static burst into a softer halo around the tallest tower--then all that remained was a plume of smoke, curling up toward the sky. The valley became still once more.

“What the fuck was that?” Varric asked, breaking the silence.

Dorian frowned, his eyes sharp. “The kind of magic one isn’t supposed to play around with.”

“Are we in Tevinter?” Lizzie’s voice asked from somewhere between them.

Dorian stroked his chin, looking out over the valley. “It’s possible. That’s stripweed around the lake--it’s common enough in the North. And while I’ve never seen anything quite like that,” he said, gesturing toward the plume of smoke, “dangerous feats of magic do tend to make me homesick.” His gaze turned toward the walkway a few steps down from them. “Just a moment. Are those… Qunari statues?”

Jane followed his gaze. Sure enough, four Qunari warriors were depicted in stone, their spears raised toward the same empty point in front of them. She walked closer.

“The detail is incredible,” she said softly, peering at one’s face. The statue’s mouth was opened in a silent scream. It was so lifelike, it seemed as though it could move at any moment.

“Who would do such a thing?” Cassandra asked. “And here, of all places?”

Varric shifted uneasily. “I don’t think these were carved, Seeker.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened. “You mean--”

“Yeah,” Varric said in a dark tone. “Pretty sure these guys were alive. Recently.”

Jane felt a stone in her stomach. “A mage did this?”

“It must have been,” Dorian murmured, glancing at the scorch marks on the ground. “I’ve heard of similar magic, of course, but nothing so extreme. And I can still feel the spell, crackling in the air. It feels….”

“Cold,” Lizzie’s voice said.

“Something like that,” Dorian said, his face thoughtful.

Jane spotted an eluvian behind the statues. “Come on. They must have used this one.”

Dorian didn’t look pleased at the prospect. “Another eluvian? What is our plan if one of these things breaks? We don’t exactly have a map.”

Jane touched the glass. It shimmered beneath her fingertips. She looked back over her shoulder. “There is no plan,” she admitted. “But we do need to find out where that dead Qunari soldier came from. If there's more--” 

She stopped herself at that. Dorian pursed his lips, but he didn’t argue. Jane stepped forward again into the glass.

 

~~~

 

The eluvian brought them to the tower where the explosion had occurred. A trail of smoke still swirled in the sky above them. They quickly realized that the eluvians did not need the Crossroads to work; some of them went directly from one place to another. Lizzie pointed out that they were still in the same valley, and suggested that perhaps proximity was a factor in how the magic worked.

When they tried to explore the second watchtower, they found a transparent figure in their way--a ghost, almost, glowing violet and white in the sunlight. It was tall and carried a massive hammer.

“Is that… a _spirit?”_ Cassandra asked.

The figure raised its head. It turned to face them, meeting Jane’s eyes warily. It asked her something in what sounded like elvish.

“Lizzie?” Jane asked, without turning.

“What?” her sister’s voice whispered.

“Don’t you know any elvish?”

Dorian snorted under his breath. “Ah yes, I’m sure the ancient elven spirit will respond _charmingly_ to modern pillowtalk.”

“Oh!” Lizzie exclaimed softly near Jane’s ear. “Right. Try, um…. _Andarn--_ no, wait. _Andarian--.”_ She stumbled, then cursed. “Maker’s breath. I can’t believe that rat bastard was right about this.”

The spirit squared its shoulders. It said something else, it’s tone hardening.

“Uh oh,” Varric said, reaching for Bianca.

“Say _ir abelas!”_ Lizzie’s voice said, a little further away than before.

 _“Ir abelas!”_ Jane called out to the spirit. It ignored her and began to lift its hammer.  More spirits appeared behind it--archers, with arrows trained on Jane and Cassandra.

Jane grit her teeth, taking a battle stance. The spirit warrior raised his hammer above his head. Jane darted away before it could hit her. When the hammer made contact with the ground, it shattered the stone and threw her off balance. She saw Dorian casting beside her as she steadied herself. A barrier fell over the four of them. She locked eyes with Cassandra, who nodded and shifted to position herself behind the warrior. Jane mirrored her, facing him head-on with her sword drawn back.

Jane had forgotten how different it was, fighting with a mage. The ice magic from the Basin was solid, at least, and unlikely to catch to her eye. But Dorian favored fire and electricity. The air around her danced with light, distracting her. She tried to focus on her breathing, on her blade, while the heat of Dorian’s flames made her cheeks nearly blister.

When Cassandra lifted her sword, leaving an opening, the spirit warrior swung his hammer. “Down!” Jane cried out to her, a moment too late. The hammer collided with Cassandra’s chestplate, and she was thrown back, a hard grunt escaping her.

One archer fell. Jane glanced toward it, but saw no body. An arrow whizzed past her ear and she heard Varric curse. She gripped her shield tighter as the spirit warrior zeroed in on Cassandra, who was still struggling to stand. Jane leapt at its back, her blade digging into its shoulder. It made a noise and tried to throw her off, swinging its free arm widely, but she held tight. She wrapped one arm around its throat, trying to choke it. Then she realized she didn't even know if it needed air.

Cassandra recovered. She spun and sliced its stomach. There was a wet sound. The spirit staggered. Jane dropped to her feet. While there was no blood, she could tell Cassandra’s blade had gone deep; the spirit held itself gingerly now, as if it were injured.

Another archer vanished. Dorian took a moment to help Jane out, throwing a quick glyph beneath the warrior. Cassandra took a swing, but the warrior seemed unaffected by the fire. It parried her blow, gaining the upper hand, and slammed its hammer hard into her sword arm. Cassandra hissed and was thrown back, her arm dangling at her side. That was all the warrior needed. It spun to tower over Jane, its hammer held high.  

Jane’s mind flashed to the dragon’s blood in her pouch. Her fingers twitched. She’d planned to save it for fighting the Qunari, if it came to that, but she had not exactly anticipated being attacked by spirits.

Luckily, just as she was about to give in and drink the blood, the final archer fell. Dorian focused a bolt of lightning on the warrior. A shot from Bianca hit it between its eyes a second later. The spirit froze mid-swing, then stumbled forward and collapsed. As it fell, it disappeared.

They all stood breathing hard. Lizzie materialized several feet away, her hand glowing with healing power. “Give me your arm,” she told Cassandra.

Cassandra held out her injured arm, and Lizzie ran her fingers over it. She was not as practiced as the professional healers at Skyhold, so the break would only set, but Cassandra could heal the rest with a potion. It was better than nothing. Jane stretched her legs, sitting on the steps beside them. She pulled out her waterskin and took a deep gulp.

“What’s _‘ir abelas’?”_ she asked her sister, her voice raspy.

 _“‘I’m sorry,’”_ Lizzie told her.

Jane couldn’t help the short, humorless chuckle that escaped her throat. She turned to Cassandra. “Don’t tell Josie I was apologizing to strangers,” she said.

Cassandra gave her a stony smile, her face tight as the healing spell mended her bone. “I will not. But the spirits would have attacked either way.”

“Yes,” Jane said. She took another sip of water. “They seemed to think we were intruders.”

Dorian was dealing with Varric’s shoulder, which had been hit by one spirit’s arrow. “We are, in a manner of speaking,” he said. “Though what exactly we’re intruding on is a bit of a mystery.” He squinted at the wound. “Hm. This is fascinating. Do you know, the arrow must have disappeared when its archer died? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“And hopefully you will not again,” Cassandra said. She winced. “It is bad enough that we may be facing Qunari. These spirits….” She shook her head. “Your guess was correct, Jane. They appeared to be elven.”

“But why were they here?” Jane wondered.

Varric’s shoulder was done. He rubbed it with a half shrug as Dorian took a step back. “The same reason as the elves at Mythal, if I had to guess. Ancient guardians of something or other.”

Jane tilted her head. “Do you think the Qunari are after an ancient artifact? Something like the Well?”

“I doubt that,” Lizzie said without looking up. “The Qun doesn’t trust magic.”

Varric agreed with a nod. He accepted Jane’s waterskin as she passed it to him. “They’re more likely to destroy that kind of stuff than steal it,” he said.

Jane hummed, unconvinced. The Grey Wardens had been led astray once by a mixture of fear and corruption. From everything Bull had told her over the years, the same could easily happen to the Qun. It only took one person. Organizations needed to be able to question their leaders, in Jane’s opinion, and neither the Wardens nor the Qun allowed for anything of the sort.

Once Varric and Cassandra were healed enough to fight, the five of them began to explore the tower. There was a broken eluvian and a collapsed bridge. An emerald green mosaic of a wolf decorated one wall. Jane barely noticed her mark flickering as she passed it, squeezing her hand shut automatically. Toward the back of the tower, they found a staircase covered in strange blue fire, with more dead Qunari just beyond where the flames licked the air.  

“What’s _that_ stuff?” Varric asked, staying far away from the fire.

“It almost feels like veilfire,” Dorian said. “The energy it’s giving off does, anyway. Only… stronger.” Lizzie squatted next to it. She reached out a hand to touch it, and Dorian grabbed her by the wrist. “Are you _mad?”_

Lizzie gave him a look. “I was going to put a barrier up first,” she said.

Dorian didn’t let go. “Don’t,” he said. “The magic feels wrong.”

Lizzie considered the fire, then relented, pulling back. “Fine,” she said.

After they’d thoroughly explored the back of the tower, Varric turned to Jane. “Dead end?” he asked Jane.

Jane chewed her lip. “I’m not sure. Those spirits must have been protecting _something.”_

“Yeah, but they’ve clearly been here a while,” Varric told her. “Whatever they’re protecting could be gone.”

Jane sighed, reluctantly admitting he was right. “The Qunari got to the temple somehow, though. Let’s retrace our steps. Perhaps we missed a door, or an eluvian.”

As she passed the wolf mosaic, her mark pulsed again. This time, she stopped in her tracks, staring at her hand. It was reacting, she realized.

“What is it?” Cassandra asked.

The pressure in her hand built, tugging her forward. “The anchor.” She glanced up, the glittering tiles staring down at her. “Something about the mosaic is… calling to it.”

Cassandra’s expression grew tight. “Be careful. Remember what happened in the Basin.”

“I know,” Jane said. “But this feels different. More like a rift. Like I could….”

She trailed off. She held up her hand, and with a rush of power, the anchor flared to life. It connected to the mosaic with a bolt of magical energy. Lizzie was at her side in an instant but Jane stopped her with her other hand and shook her head. She felt no pain. She only felt--

The world shifted.

_People. People, everywhere. Elves. Dalish elves, dressed in rags._

_Dozens of them were pouring through the eluvian behind her--men, women, children. Some were wounded badly. Others looked half-starved. They were clearly survivors of some plague, or battle refugees._

‘Slaves,’ _a distant voice whispered in Jane’s mind._

_Jane felt dizzy as she watched._

_The distant voice continued--though it was more like the memory of a voice, or a familiar passage in a book, than anything heard or spoken. ‘_ ‘Fen'harel bids you welcome. Rest, knowing the Dread Wolf guards you and his people guard this valley. In this place, you are free. In trusting us, you will never be bound again.’

_A man in a wolfskin cloak stood before the refugees, his head bowed and his face obscured by his hood._

The anchor’s connection snapped. As it did, the mosaic disintegrated, baring a room within. Jane gasped, coming out of her trance.

“Are you alright?” Lizzie asked, her eyes wide. She took Jane’s left hand, looking at it. “What happened?”

“I….” Jane shook her head. The sun suddenly seemed too bright. “I saw a vision. This place… it was used to free ancient elven slaves. The mosaic said it was protected by Fen’Harel.” She blinked. “The Dread Wolf.”

“Fen’Harel?” Dorian asked, surprised. “What, the Dalish god of misfortune?”

“I… think so,” Jane said. “The people I saw had Dalish face markings.”

Varric glanced behind them. “Huh. Well, that would explain all the wolf statues.”

Dorian stepped forward, tilting his head. “I still don’t understand what the Qunari are doing around all this ancient elven stuff.” He glanced into the room that the mosaic had revealed. “Speaking of which.”

Jane followed his gaze. Sure enough, another eluvian waited inside. She tried to take a step forward, but Lizzie’s hand gripped her tighter. Her eyes were still on the anchor.

“You shouldn’t use it, unless you have to,” she said, worried.

Jane shook her hand free of her sister’s grasp. “It felt exactly like closing a rift,” she assured her. “And it’s still suppressed.” Lizzie looked doubtful. Jane put a hand on her shoulder. “The best thing we can do for the anchor is get back to Halamshiral. We should keep moving.”

Lizzie frowned, then nodded. Jane continued through the mirror.

 

~~~

 

Jane found two more mosaic barriers on the next watchtower. She used the anchor to open them, with Lizzie looking on anxiously. Both contained more visions, and the same voice whispered ancient words into her mind. One told her Fen’Harel was a mortal man who did not seek the mantle of godhood--the other said that the Evanuris were mortal beings as well, powerful mages who’d risen up and enslaved their people. In each vision, Jane saw more of the slaves being led by the man in the wolfskin cloak. She saw them given food, and shelter, and even weapons to fight back against those that wished to oppress them.

But the visions and the eluvians weakened whatever Lizzie had done to the anchor. The pressure was easing with every elven artifact they encountered. At the bottom of the tower, there was a dark room with a veined orb in the center. Lines of static light sparked in the air. Jane tasted a thunderstorm on her tongue. Before she could even comment, her palm spasmed, and she cried out. That was the only warning she got before the anchor exploded. She grasped her hand, doubling over. There was a sharp throb, as if Lizzie’s spell was being ripped out of her palm.

The pain was gone as quickly as it started.

“Jane!” Cassandra cried.

“Are you alright?” Lizzie asked, alarmed, rushing to her side.

“Yes,” Jane managed. She held her hand up in front of her face. Her arm trembled slightly from the effort. The light from the anchor was as bright as fire, glittering in her palm. As she stared, it began to fade, slowly.

She met Lizzie’s eye. Her sister’s expression was caught between horror and resignation. There was no need to say anything--the anchor was no longer suppressed. And it was larger than ever.

Jane wondered what it looked like beneath the glove.

She decided she did not want to know.

“What happened?” Dorian asked warily.

“It’s changed,” Lizzie said, her voice breaking. “Again.”

“It’s fine,” Jane told her, dropping her hand to her side. “It didn’t feel that bad this time.”

Lizzie stared at it with thin lips. “We could try to Silence it,” she said after a moment, looking up. “Cassandra is here.” At her name, Cassandra straightened, a curious expression on her face.

“No,” Jane said. “Not yet. It’s proven itself useful in here. I don’t want to risk losing that. What if the mosaics close up again? We’d be stuck here.”

Lizzie closed her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “But when we get back to Halamshiral.”

“When we get back,” Jane agreed. She glanced around. “It shouldn’t be too long now. I think we’re almost at the sanctuary.”

“The sanctuary?” Cassandra asked, confused.

Jane paused. The word had come from one of her visions, she realized. She thought back to what she’d seen. “That building in the lake--it wasn’t a temple. It was a sanctuary that Fen’Harel built for the slaves.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Quite the operation this Fen’Harel character had going.”

But Jane was realizing something far worse. “Oh,” she said softly.

“What is it?” Cassandra asked.

Jane looked into the middle distance, lost in thought. “There are barracks underneath it,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “He was training them for a war.”

Cassandra followed her train of thought immediately. She inhaled sharply. “Abandoned barracks,” she said darkly. “A perfect place to store an army.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “Shit. You don’t think that’s why the Qun are here, do you?”

“I….” Jane hesitated. “Let’s hope I’m wrong,” she said. She turned back to the staircase, squeezing her left hand into a fist.  

 

~~~

 

After that, their group was largely silent. It was as if the severity of the situation had settled over them, dragging morale down with it. Even Varric seemed to be in no mood for jokes.

They fought more spirits, and found more dead Qunari. One thing was clear: this was not simply an espionage mission on the part of the Qun. Jane wondered whether it could be a full invasion.

She tried to avoid the thought, and not just because it terrified her. A dark and shameful part of her _wanted_ it to be. Wasn’t she looking for an honorable way to throw herself into the Void? Hadn’t she wanted a death like Ameridan’s? The Qun could be her Hakkon, she knew, if she was able to stop them. After all, this was what she was good at. Fighting. Keeping people safe. Locating threats and neutralizing them. If she died stopping a Qunari invasion, she could unite the South in a way her council had never thought possible.

And a martyr for the Inquisition would certainly make Josephine’s job easier.

Jane shut her eyes. She crushed that thought like a bug beneath a boot. These were the selfish dreams of a child who played at being a hero, not a leader responsible for the lives of thousands. The Qun were a force to be reckoned with, and the worst thing for the South right now would be war. Invasion worked in no one’s favor.

Finally, they reached a bridge to the sanctuary. The Qunari there did not wait to hear Jane’s introduction, or her questions, and attacked her on sight. Whatever they were doing, they did not want the Inquisition involved.

To no one’s surprise, the enemies that the Qunari were fighting inside the sanctuary were more of the ghostly spirit guardians. Unlike the sentinels at the Temple of Mythal, Jane was not able to communicate with them, and so could not convince them that the Qunari were a mutual enemy. She and her companions fought their way through, killing dozens of Qunari and perhaps another dozen guardians. Jane felt badly, even if they were only spirits. She had not intended to offend them--she only wished to get to the bottom of whatever the Qunari were plotting.

But soon, they’d killed all the Qunari, and the spirits were dead, or banished, or whatever it was that spirits did when they ceased to exist.

Jane found the back of the sanctuary. It housed a large chamber with a stone wolf in the center, surrounded by torches of veilfire. Intricate murals decorated the walls. Varric paused in front of one of them, the image of a man in a wolfskin cloak holding his hand in front of a kneeling elf’s face. Lines were depicted between his hand and the elf’s skin.

“What’s this supposed to be, do you think?” he asked.

Jane glanced at it. She recognized the scene, from her visions. “That’s Fen’Harel,” she said. “He’s taking slave markings from their faces.”

Varric stared at her, his mouth agape. “Those tattoos are slave markings?”

“That’s what the visions showed,” Jane told him.

Varric looked back at the mural, his lips twisting bitterly. “Great,” he muttered. “Another thing never to tell Daisy.”

“Where are the barracks?” Cassandra asked.

Jane focused on what she could remember. “There was… a trapdoor. In the floor, somewhere. But I don’t know where.”

“If they were smuggling slaves, a secret passage _would_ make sense,” Dorian mused. “The question is, how do we find it?”

“The anchor?” Cassandra asked.

Jane felt nothing in her palm. She shook her head. “Maybe magic.”

Cassandra glanced to her left. “Dorian?”

“Consider it done,” he said, already studying the walls with more scrutiny.

Jane looked around for their other mage. “Lizzie?” she asked. No one responded. She felt a spike of panic and spun to look behind her. “Where’s Lizzie?”

“Probably outside,” Cassandra said, not unkindly. “You warned her to stay safe. And the fighting here was much worse than in the towers.”

Jane bit her lip. She knew Cassandra was right, but a shard of worry stayed in her chest anyway. She felt it even as she tried to help Dorian with the puzzle he found. It only dissipated when Lizzie walked in a few minutes later, uninjured and perfectly visible.

“There you are,” Jane said, relieved. “Where were you? And why aren’t you wearing the ring?”

“I am wearing it. I just used a little magic to follow Dorian’s trail.” Lizzie held a paper in her hand. She lifted it, in gesture. “I was searching the dead qunari outside while you fought. I thought I might find some sign of what they’re planning.”

“Did you?”

She shoved the note in her pocket. “No. Nothing explicit.” She hesitated before adding, “I found out the story behind those spirits, though.”

“Aha!” Dorian exclaimed then, leaping back. A mechanism beneath them roared to life, and the wolf statue began to shift as if it were dragged across the floor by an invisible string.

“I knew we kept you around for a reason,” Varric said with a grin.

Jane tilted her head at Lizzie, who shook her head. “I’ll tell you later.”

Jane nodded. She drew her sword and shield, and took a deep breath. There could be a whole Qunari army beneath them. She suddenly wished she’d brought back-up.

She glanced at Lizzie. “Wait here until… until one of us comes back for you. And if we don’t--”

“You will,” Lizzie said.

“If we don’t,” Jane continued, giving her sister a look, “go back through the eluvians and tell the council what happened.”

Lizzie paused, then stepped aside. Jane began to head down the staircase.

 

~~~

 

Fifteen minutes later, Jane sheathed her sword. They had been fortunate. Only five Qunari soldiers were waiting for them. It was clear that more had been housed in the barracks recently, but their numbers must have shrunk when the spirit guardians drew them out.

“Not a full invasion,” Cassandra said.

Jane agreed. “But then what was this?”

Cassandra shrugged. Jane leaned over the now-dead soldiers. The empty vials in her pouch clinked as she rummaged through their pockets, looking for anything that could give them more information. Varric left to retrieve Lizzie.

She found a paper in the largest soldier’s pocket. It was crumbled, as if it had been hastily shoved away. She pursed her lips at she read the note. Something was written in Qunlat at the top, but the bottom part was in patchy Common. Her heart stuttered.

She looked up at her companions, at a loss for words.

Cassandra turned, then caught Jane’s expression. She frowned. “You found something,” she said.

“Yes,” Jane said softly. She glanced behind her. Varric had appeared at the top of the stairs, Lizzie at his side.

“And?” Cassandra asked.

Jane swallowed, looking down. “These men… they had orders to come here only when the infiltration of the Winter Palace was complete.”

“They--,” Cassandra began. “That means they are already within the palace.”

“So it would seem.”

The news was met with silence, and the tension in the room grew taught. Cassandra exhaled. “We will need to alert the council immediately,” she said.

Jane nodded.

 

~~~

 

Negotiations had concluded for the day. Dorian and Varric retreated to their own delegations for dinner, while the council, Lizzie, and Cassandra gathered in the _chateau’s_ dining room. Jane’s advisers had already eaten with the Divine and several of the ambassadors, though Josephine was clearly displeased with how that dinner had gone. Odette brought the rest of them a cold egg pie with cured meats and leeks. Lizzie actually ate her slice, though Jane noticed she cut around the leeks, and left most of the crust on her plate. Jane practically swallowed her first slice whole, and was well into her second when Cassandra finished describing what they found.

“Generally speaking, the Qun distrusts magic,” Leliana said, confused. She tilted her head. “Why would _they_ be using eluvians?”

“None of this makes sense,” Josephine said, touching her forehead. “The Qun has no reason to be friendly with the Inquisition, of course, but they would not risk _attacking_ us for no reason.”

Cullen finished reading the orders that Jane had found. He put them on the table. “Perhaps. Though if they are truly planning to invade, any Southern force would be seen as resistance, I imagine. Ourselves included.”

“There were not enough soldiers for a full invasion,” Cassandra said firmly. “Something else is at play.”

Jane went to grab her goblet with her left hand, then quickly pulled back. She put her fist under the table, and used the other one instead. The faint glow of the anchor was visible through her glove all the time now, even with Lizzie’s padding. She did not want the council to notice it.

“Whether it makes sense or not, they are attacking us,” she said. “Obviously, we disrupted their plans. I’m more concerned about what those plans are.” She took a sip and put the goblet back. “Thank the Maker they stumbled on those spirit guardians. Otherwise we’d have been too late.”

“They didn’t,” Lizzie said from the end of the table. Everyone glanced up. She’d been mostly silent since they returned.

“What do you mean?” Jane asked.

Lizzie looked at her plate, fiddling with her fork and knife. “They didn’t stumble on the spirit guardians,” she clarified finally. She put down the utensils and pulled two pieces of paper from her pocket, one charred and the other speckled in blood. Jane took them from her and glanced over their contents while her sister explained, her eyes moving to Jane’s advisers. “I did a little exploring while Jane was fighting. The Qun occupied the temple with no trouble.” Jane nearly corrected her that the building was a sanctuary, but bit her tongue. “Shortly before we arrived, however, a mage came through and attacked them. The mage woke the spirits, and then fought their way back to the Crossroads.”

“Leaving the spirits to deal with the rest of them,” Cassandra surmised as she leaned back. “So this was no coincidence.”

Jane read the notes. She passed them to Leliana. “Two parties, then. The Qunari, and a mystery agent determined to stop them.”

Leliana read with a frown. “Who would concern themselves with the Qunari occupation of an abandoned elven temple?”

“Well, whoever it was, our focus should remain on the Qunari,” Cullen said. “Based on what we found, they are actively targeting Halamshiral for… something.”

Josephine nodded. “We must ensure that they do not disrupt negotiations.”

“Disrupt negotiations?” Cullen asked, aghast. He made a noise of disbelief. “Is that truly your only concern at this moment?”

Josephine rolled her eyes. “Of course not. But it is a priority. The Exalted Council is in a delicate state, Commander. We managed to offend them on the very first day of the summit.”

Cullen’s scowl deepened. “I’m sure you can sooth the nobles’ ruffled feathers while we solve the _real_ problem,” he said sharply.

Josephine’s eyes sparked. “Not when the Inquisitor insults everyone present by walking out in the middle of the summit!” Jane blinked, speechless, and Josephine gave her a sympathetic look. “I apologize, but it is true. Without your presence, the only thing keeping us from ruin is that Orlais and Ferelden are divided in goal and grievance. If they unite…. We could lose _everything.”_

“Whereas if the Qun invades--,” Cullen began.

Jane cut them both off, shaking her head. “Josephine is right. The summit cannot be ignored. Not with what’s at stake here.” She turned to Josephine. “And I’m sorry, Josie, but I need to investigate until we know what’s going on. If you want me to speak with the ambassadors, I can explain what’s happening--”

Josephine squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. “No. No. Not when we have so little information.” She schooled her expression, meeting Jane’s eye. “It will be fine. I will attend to them.”

Jane watched her a moment longer, then relaxed. She sighed. “Clearly, I have to go back to the Crossroads. If Halamshiral was the destination, then the sanctuary was just a temporary place where that the Qun could house their people. Their base of operations must be somewhere else.”

“Through another eluvian, I’d wager,” Leliana suggested.

“Exactly,” Jane said.

“I will accompany you,” Cassandra told Jane. “And I am sure Varric and Dorian will say the same.”

Lizzie was silent, though she did catch Jane’s eye. Jane knew that her sister would insist on joining, but was avoiding the topic in front of the council. She was grateful, at least, for the discretion. So far, no one had questioned why Lizzie had gone along in the first place.

“Has anyone told the Divine what is happening?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Leliana said. “I told Odette to keep Victoria appraised of the situation.”

Josephine looked a little relieved, though tension remained around her eyes. “Then at least Most Holy will be a little more supportive tomorrow,” she said, tiredly.

Jane felt a twist of guilt in her gut. She hated how miserable Josephine sounded. “We should leave as soon as possible,” she told Cassandra. “Maybe we can even make it back before the talks resume.”

“Shouldn’t you… rest first?” Cullen asked. “You were gone for several hours--”

“There’s no time, Cullen,” Cassandra said. “The Qunari are already here.”

Cullen glanced at Jane, a line of concern between his eyes. “But--”

Jane stopped him, shaking her head. “If something were to happen here, and we could have prevented it--.” She dropped her gaze to her plate. Suddenly, she was not as hungry. She pushed the remainder of her food away with a sigh. “Summon Dorian and Varric. Cassandra and I will lie down for however long it takes for them to ready themselves.”

“As you say, Inquisitor,” Leliana replied, standing.

 

~~~

 

Jane slept for all of fifteen minutes before Josephine woke her, and felt worse for it. She sensed a headache forming. Leliana gave her a draught before she left. The light in the Crossroads still seemed to bore into her skull.

The next eluvian brought them to the Deep Roads, much to Varric’s dismay. There, they found Qunari soldiers who attacked them on sight. Other Qunari corpses lay under piles of stone, the victims of some sort of cave in. After a few minutes, they heard a distant explosion, and the reason behind the cave-ins became all too clear.

Qunari torches lit the main entrance, but large areas of the caves were pitch black. Several times, they had to use the light of the anchor to find their bearings. It did not help that steady blasts from below shook the floor, causing the walls to shift. Jane was hardly claustrophobic, but the whole atmosphere made her feel more anxious in an hour than her month in the Deep Roads ever had.

“Something’s weird about this place,” Varric muttered, and Jane couldn’t help but agree.

“Look,” Lizzie said, pointing at a faint blue light coming from one corner. “More of that odd veilfire.”

“So our mystery agent has been here, too, it seems,” Dorian said. He tilted his head, confused. “What could they possibly be guarding in the corner of a cave?”

“Maybe they just needed the light,” Lizzie suggested.

Dorian huffed. “Rather showy way of lighting up a room,” he muttered.

Lizzie opened her mouth, and then closed it again with a frown. She glanced back at the fire before shaking her head and moving again.

They went deeper into the cave, led by the light in Jane’s hand. The anchor had not changed much since the elven ruins; it glowed like a green flame in Jane’s palm no matter what Lizzie did, but it also did not grow worse. Her sister used a healing spell every hour or so, which seemed to keep it stable. But what stable meant now, there was no telling. Jane hadn’t removed her glove while they were at the _chateau_. Whatever she would find beneath the thick leather--she had to shove that thought away for now.

They stumbled upon a former templar, Jerran, who had joined the Qun in Kirkwall and turned viddathari. He told them that the Qun were using an explosive called gaatlok, in order to mine lyrium. Qunari mages did not use it as a rule, but a senior Ben-Hassrath agent called the Viddasala had ordered it for her saarebas. She was working on a massive plan called Dragon’s Breath--what exactly it entailed, Jerran did not know.

He was terrified of the Viddasala, though. That much was clear.

“I don’t care whether you serve Fen’Harel or not,” he told them. “Someone has to stop her.”

“Fen’Harel?” Jane asked, taken aback. “What makes you think I serve Fen’Harel?”

Jerran shrugged. “The Viddasala said that the whole Inquisition serves Fen’Harel. And you’re the Inquisitor, so I just assumed….” He trailed off with another shrug.

“Did she say why she thinks that?” Jane asked.

Jerran shook his head. “No. Everyone just believed her.”

Jane traded a confused glance with Cassandra. She turned back to Jerran. “Well, we don’t. And I promise you, we’ll do everything we can to stop Dragon’s Breath.”

She let the man go. She could tell Varric wasn’t the biggest fan of their plan, where they would use the Qun’s gaatlok to blow up the whole facility, but he didn’t voice his objection.

After fighting through another wave of soldiers, Jane made Lizzie go back to the eluvian to wait for them. The rest of them detonated a series of small explosions in the areas where the cave was the weakest. The whole cavern began to fill with water.

As they rushed back to the eluvian, trying to avoid the flood, Jane glanced beside her. “Varric. How badly do you think the Qun will react to this?”

Varric grimaced. “Pretty badly. In my experience, taking things away from a barely stable Qunari leader doesn’t work out well for anyone.”

Jane fought to keep her voice steady. “So if this wasn’t an invasion before….” She trailed off, gripping her marked hand. Varric didn’t reply. They reached the eluvian. She peered around, nervously. “Lizzie?”

Her sister appeared, lighting flame in her hand. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” Jane said, her shoulders relaxing.

Lizzie nodded. She handed Jane a piece of paper. “I found this. Apparently,” she paused, a nervous twitch tugging her eyebrows together, “... the Qun thinks our mystery mage is an agent of Fen’Harel.”

“Popular accusation today,” Dorian said wryly, but Lizzie didn’t smle.

Jane’s eyes scanned over the note. “That would explain why they were protecting the sanctuary.” She sighed, closing the note and handing it back to her sister. “We need to track down the Viddasala. And I’d like to update the council first.” She winced. “I have a feeling we just started a war.”

 

~~~

 

Whenever the Inquisition was in Orlais on official business, the former bards on Jane’s council transformed. They were themselves, but changed--like gems placed in a new light. For Leliana, the shift was subtle. Occasionally, she was frank with Jane about her past, and Jane would catch a glimpse of a younger woman, naive and seductive and seduced. Returning to Orlais brought out that rare, buried side of her. She would float somewhere between fond and disenchanted as she watched familiar yet unfamiliar scenes in the place she once called home.

Josephine, on the other hand, sparkled. She gave off a frantic energy, as if she were cheerfully drunk on fear. In some ways, it was not unlike being near the Iron Bull before a dragon fight; both knew there was danger lurking behind the thing they loved, and yet both thrived when pitted against it.

But by the time that Jane and the others had arrived at the _chateau_ , Josephine’s energy had turned into something much darker. Any thrill that Josephine got from the Game was gone. For once, the Inquisition was losing, and it was losing badly. Her panic consumed her, fire blazing behind her eyes.

Once they were all settled back in the dining room, and the advisers had been assured that there were minimal injuries, Josephine cut Jane off before she could began.

“Inquisitor,” she said sharply. “I am afraid the day turned. . . eventful in your absence. One of the Inquisition servants attacked an Orlesian servant.”

“What?” Jane exclaimed, her eyes widening.

Cullen looked somewhat exasperated. “The Orlesian servant was up to something,” he clarified.

“So our servant claimed,” Josephine said, shooting him a glare. “But we have no evidence of that being the case.” She took a quick breath. “Arl Teagan insisted we get involved--”

“Arl Teagan?” Jane asked, confused.

“Yes,” Josephine said.

“He wanted us to get involved in an Orlesian matter?”

“He said it was an overstep of our boundaries,” she explained. “Which, arguably, it was. And the commander had the Orlesian servant arrested.”

“Of course I did!” Cullen exclaimed. “He said he was ordered to bring in several large barrels, but couldn’t tell me what the substance inside was.”

“He’s a _servant,”_ Josephine told him. “In all likelihood, he was not told more than he needed to know. The Orlesian guard did not seem to find the situation suspicious. If anything, they found the actions of _our_ servant more suspicious. I’ve already asked Leliana to--”

“What was the substance?” Cassandra asked, interrupting.

Leliana lifted her head. “We are not sure. This only happened an hour ago. It is… some sort of grey powder.”

Jane’s blood ran cold. Suddenly the fine grains of gaatlok she could still feel on her skin felt heavy and the room felt like ice. Cassandra gave Jane a grim look.

“Dragon’s breath?” she whispered.

Jane couldn’t reply.

Josephine hadn’t noticed their reactions and was still replying to Cullen. “We don’t even know what this… powder is,” she said. “This is Orlais. It could be a delicacy, or some sort of…of….” She paused, stuttering over her words. _“Stimulant--”_

Jane found her voice. “It’s gaatlok,” she said, looking up. She was more sure of that than she’d been of anything in her life. She gripped her forehead, trying not to panic. “Oh, Maker. They’re going to blow up the Winter Palace.”

 _“What?”_ Josephine exclaimed, just as Cullen asked, _“Gaatlok?”_

Jane fought to calm herself. She explained what they’d learned in the Deep Roads as quickly as possible, while Josephine and Cullen looked on in shock. Leliana maintained a neutral expression, only raising an eyebrow. When Jane finished, even Josephine seemed unable to respond.

Leliana spoke first. “If everyone who is at the Exalted Council were killed, the Qun would not need a full army to invade,” she observed. “There would be chaos. This is what Corypheus should have done after the Conclave.” She looked to the side, thoughtfully. “I will need to speak with this… Orlesian servant further and sweep the palace for more containers.”

“Have someone contact Denerim and Val Royeaux,” Jane told her. “Any leaders in the Free Marches, too. The Qun does nothing by half. I doubt Halamshiral is the only target.”

Cullen’s brow lowered. “And what will you do, Inquisitor?”

Jane tried to meet his gaze with grim determination, but he was too easy to read. Her eyes flicked to a spot just behind him before she replied. “I’m going to find the Viddasala.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally, I try to avoid summarizing gameplay, but it's really unavoidable here. Especially as several of you have mentioned that you haven't played Trespasser (Go play! Or at least watch a run on YouTube! It's a really great DLC).
> 
> Thanks again to Aethusa <3 And thank you all for continuing to read :)


	7. hope and fear

Jane and the others spent nearly an hour wandering the Crossroads. This time, there was no convenient blood trail to follow. The eluvians they found led them to abandoned places, infested with demons--a ransacked Orlesian manor, a prison, and an overgrown tower that smelled of damp leaves and moss. Jane and Cassandra shuffled through scattered notes, looking for anything in Qunlat, while Lizzie collected enchanted items to bring back for Dagna. There was no sign of the Qunari. If the Viddasala had been through any of these mirrors, she’d long since moved on.

Each time they returned to the Crossroads, Jane's headache grew worse. She threw a nervous glance over her shoulder. The others looked as awful as she felt. They’d been awake for a full day, and they all moved with the sort of fitful restlessness that could only come from exhaustion. She tried not to worry. Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian were all capable of defending themselves under the worst of circumstances.

Lizzie, on the other hand….

It had been years since her sister had faced actual combat. Between training her students and working the forge, Jane knew Lizzie was probably in decent enough shape, but her lack of experience would be obvious to enemies. And then there was the fact that she hadn’t been taking proper care of herself.

Jane turned away. There was nothing she could do about that now. Much as she was loathe to admit it, her sister’s presence was necessary. Lizzie had kept the mark stable since they’d left the sanctuary. It still glowed brightly, but it had not gotten any worse. Besides, where would she even be safe? At Halamshiral, with the barrels of gaatlok? In the Crossroads, where the Qunari could appear at any second? Wandering the Deep Roads, or the haunted elven ruins?

No. Regardless of what kind of danger lay ahead, it was better she stay at Jane’s side. As long as she kept out of the fighting, she would be fine.

Dorian interrupted her thoughts. “You said this place is not quite in the physical realm, yes?”

“That’s what Morrigan told me.”

His eyes drifted over the towering rock formations. “I suppose that explains why I can hardly feel the Veil.”

“I’m not sure the Veil’s here at all,” Lizzie said, her nose scrunching as she squinted. She kept her ring off in the Crossroads, where the chance of an ambush was slim.

“At the very least, something is actively nullifying it,” Dorian agreed. He grimaced. “Ah. I just had a terrible thought.”

“What?” Lizzie asked.

“Some of these eluvians,” he said, nodding toward the one behind them. “They could lead to the Fade, couldn’t they? I mean--theoretically, without a Veil present--if one world is accessible, there’s no reason the other would not be.”

“I suppose so,” Lizzie said doubtfully.

Cassandra shuddered. “Maker. I hope not.”

“They can,” Jane told them. “They do, sometimes. Morrigan and I went through one that did, once.”

 _“What?”_ Cassandra exclaimed, just as Dorian spat out, “Truly?”

“I--,” Jane began. “That is….” She trailed off, glancing at her companions. Varric and Lizzie looked startled by the news as well, though not quite as horrified. It occurred to her that Cassandra and Dorian had never been in the Fade, and that both of them would probably like to keep it that way.

“You mean to say,” Dorian said, enunciating each word with great care, “that you’ve been through an eluvian that brought you directly into the Fade itself?” She nodded. “What, from the Crossroads?”

“Well… yes,” she said. Varric let out a low whistle. Dorian blinked, processing what he’d just learned.

“When was this?” Cassandra demanded. “Morrigan has been gone for more than a year.”

“Oh,” Jane said, ashamed. It was not the first time she’d forgotten to tell Cassandra about something important. She thought she'd never hear the end of it, the time she’d mentioned a dwarf with magical abilities months after returning from the Deep Roads. She glanced at Cassandra. “It was when I met Mythal.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned. _“That_ was over two years ago.”

“I know,” Jane said. “I’m sorry.”

“You are aware,” Cassandra said in a stern tone, “that I have been trying to keep an official account of the Inquisition. To ensure that we are more honest with ourselves than our predecessors.”

Jane winced. She was aware. The problem was that Cassandra straddled a strange line within the Inquisition. On the one hand, she had every reason to be informed. She was the founder--an active member, their official chronicler, and a good friend of several top advisers, as well as the Inquisitor herself. On the other, she had no official seat on the council, and no title beyond the ones she’d had from the start. As her duties with the new Seekers caused her attentions to drift further north, keeping Cassandra in the loop had fallen largely to Jane.

A task she handled poorly, as it turned out.

“The bit with the dragon seemed more important at the time,” she said lamely, causing Cassandra to puff in disbelief.

“Wait,” Dorian said. “This means that you have been in the Fade, physically, on _three_ separate occasions.”

“Yes,” Jane said.

“Maker’s breath,” Dorian muttered. “That’s remarkable. Terrifying, but remarkable.”

“We passed _‘remarkable’_ a long time ago, Sparkler,” Varric told him dryly. “I can’t even pretend to be shocked by this shit anymore. Eluvians that lead to the Fade? Sure. Why not?”

Dorian eyed their surroundings with new suspicion. “And just when I thought a Qunari invasion was at the top of my list of concerns for the day.”

“They don’t seem to be _common,”_ Jane told him.

“Yes, well,” Dorian said. “Knowing _our_ luck.”

Jane tried to think of something to say to that, but the lack of sleep muddled her thoughts. She sighed, running a hand over her head.

“Jane,” Lizzie said quietly, falling into step beside her. “When you say you met Mythal….” She gave Jane a sidelong look. “You don’t mean _the_ Mythal, do you?”

Jane paused. She realized she had met Flemeth shortly after the Arbor Wilds, right at the start of her and Lizzie’s estrangement. The council had decided to keep the whole thing rather quiet, with only Jane’s inner circle being told; in retrospect, it made sense that Lizzie might not have heard the story. Still, she was a little surprised that Solas or Varric hadn’t said something.

“I do, yes,” she said finally. “Well. A part of her. The woman I met was human. Morrigan’s mother, in fact.”

Lizzie gave her a blank stare. “Morrigan’s mother is Mythal.”

“Sort of,” Jane said. “Her name is Flemeth. Apparently, she and Mythal… merged, or something, centuries ago.”

“Merged?” Lizzie asked.

Jane studied the path in front of her. “Whatever is left of Mythal entered Flemeth and became part of her. That’s what she told me, anyway. And I do think she was telling the truth. She could control Morrigan through the Well, which is exactly what….” She stopped herself from saying Solas’s name. “What we were warned could happen.”

“How is that possible?” Lizzie asked.

“I’m not really sure,” Jane said.

Cassandra answered instead, tossing a glance at Lizzie. “You are familiar, I assume, with the fact that not all possessed mages become obvious abominations.”

“Yes,” Lizzie said. “Of course.”

Cassandra nodded. “Sometimes, such mages are granted certain abilities, or memories, as part of the arrangement. Things that once belonged to the demon. I believe that whatever has happened to this Flemeth is of a similar nature. Of course, I did not know that the encounter happened in the Fade when I drew my conclusions.” She looked at Jane, frowning. “It could have been a spirit, you know. Or a demon. You were nearly deceived by the one that claimed to be Justinia.”

Jane shook her head. “That wouldn't explain how she was able to control Morrigan.”

Cassandra did not seem mollified.

“I really am sorry, Cassandra,” Jane added sincerely. “It happened toward the end, right before Corypheus.” She chewed on her lip. “The whole experience was a bit strange.”

Varric snorted, shaking his head. “ _‘A bit strange,’_ the Herald of Andraste said, describing that one time she met an actual elven goddess in the Fade. Have I told you lately how insane your life is?”

“If what I saw at the sanctuary is true, then Mythal wasn’t really a goddess, was she?” Jane pointed out. “Just a powerful mage.”

“Poetic license,” Varric told her. “ _‘Elven goddess’_ sounds way better than _‘apostate in a fancy hat’._ ”

Dorian interjected. “If we could get back to the topic at hand for a moment--as much as I’ve enjoyed this little excursion, I would prefer to _not_ accompany the Inquisitor on her all-too-likely fourth visit to the Fade. Call it a healthy aversion to cataclysmic events. Perhaps we could send one person ahead next time, just in case.”

“Relax, Sparkler,” Varric told him. “No one’s ending up in the Fade.”

“You sound very certain.”

“Because I am.” Varric cocked an eyebrow. “What, you didn’t notice? The mirrors have _tells.”_

Dorian looked baffled. “Tells? What in Andraste’s name is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Check out the stuff around them.” Varric gestured at the eluvian they were walking past, one they’d used a few hours earlier. “This has those thick dwarven pillars you find in the Deep Roads. And where did it take us? Deep Roads. The one that went to the mansion had Orlesian crap running up the side of it. Even the one to Halamshiral had a little halla statue nearby. Seems like the Crossroads likes to give us a hint about where we’re going before we get there.” He shrugged. “All we have to do is avoid anything too green and pointy, and we should be fine.”

Jane realized he was right. The Crossroads morphed itself to match the destination. She tried to remember what the eluvian that had brought her and Morrigan to the Fade had looked like, but she couldn’t picture it in her mind’s eye.

Dorian relaxed slightly. “Fair enough,” he said. “But if you’re wrong, kindly leave the Tevinter ambassador’s presence out of this section of the book, will you? Bad enough we’ve defiled an elven ruin and killed a platoon of qunari soldiers. It would be a shame to confirm _every_ stereotype about the Imperium on my first official visit.”

Varric gave him an innocent look. “What book?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Oh, honestly.”

 

~~~

 

The next eluvian was flanked by a pair of bookshelves; as Varric predicted, it took them into what appeared to be the ruins of a library. One wall had been completely demolished, revealing that the ground they stood on was an island, untethered in the air. Other large rocks hung above them, floating like driftwood. Magic hummed so thickly that Jane could feel it buzzing in the anchor.

“Okay,” Varric admitted darkly. “Maybe I was wrong.”

Lizzie looked up at the sky, her pupils swallowing the brown of her eyes. She shook her head. “No. This isn’t the Fade.”

Varric gave her a look. “I don’t know if you noticed, Blaze, but the _rocks_ are floating. Pretty sure there’s only one place where _that_ happens.”

“You would think,” Dorian said. “But I do believe she’s right. This is the physical realm.” He considered, touching his chin. “Something feels off, however. As though the Fade is… _leaking.”_

“It feels like the Breach,” Lizzie said after a beat, as if just realizing that herself.

Dorian agreed with a nod. “Precisely. This whole area must have faced some massive magical backlash some time ago.”

Jane didn’t like the sound of that. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she peered over a ledge at the empty space beneath them. The anchor seemed to agree with her sister’s assessment, tingling in her palm, itching for something to close. She felt an urge to turn around and walk back through the eluvian.

“We should continue our search,” Cassandra said, giving Jane a worried look.

Jane squeezed her hand into a ball. “Yes,” she said. “We should.”

They exited the first chamber. From the look of things, all the islands had once been connected, with partial walkways stretching out between them. In the distance was an inverted island, topped with more bookshelves. Jane stopped as she spotted a flurry of activity. She could just make out Qunari soldiers, upside down, as if the ceiling was their floor. They were tearing through whatever they could find, searching for something.

“Looks like you found your army,” Varric said in a low tone.

Her eyes flicked over the soldiers, counting. “That can’t be all of them,” she said.

“Then perhaps these men will be kind enough to guide us to their associates, hm?” Dorian asked. “Look--there’s an eluvian at the top of that staircase. I’d wager the Qunari came through that. Shall we?”

On their way to the mirror, they passed a spirit--an outline of a legless body with hollow, soulless eyes. To Jane’s surprise, it greeted them in Common when they approached, asking if they required guidance. It called itself the Archivist, and explained to them that they were in the Vir’Dirthara, an ancient elven library that had been built before the fall of Arlathan. Magic had been used to thread together knowledge from across the empire, but the paths of the library were now in disarray.

“What put this place into disarray?” Jane asked.

The spirit’s voice took on a melancholy note. “This library was made with both world and Fade. When they sundered, so did we.”

Dorian frowned. “Sundered?”

“Yes,” the spirit answered, circling to pin its empty gaze on him. “Much was lost when the Dread Wolf raised the Veil. The magic could no longer sustain us.”

Dorian blinked. “You’re saying both worlds were once the same?”

“Yes, that is accurate.”

“And that _Fen’Harel_ is the one who separated them?” Jane asked, astonished. That was something the sanctuary had not mentioned.

The spirit bobbed in affirmation. It looked at her curiously. “Are you here to study the Veil as well? If so, I must apologize. I am not quite myself. I was unable to guide the Viddasala and her people toward anything helpful on the subject. However, they have been researching here for some time. Perhaps they can assist you. If you would like to exchange knowledge, they congregate by the lower gate.”

Jane tried to ask how to reach the Qunari soldiers, but whatever had damaged the library had broken the spirit as well. It could only recall a few memories of what had happened when the Veil was raised. It began to repeat in a monotone the last thoughts of terrified ancient elves, all of whom were probably long dead.

Repressing a shudder, Jane stopped it from speaking further. Suddenly, the air felt very cold and she wanted to move on.

“Be wary of the Librarians,” the spirit told them before they left. “They once helped guide the path to knowledge. But they were woken recently, and they are… not well.”

“Woken? By the Qunari?” Jane asked.

“No,” the spirit replied. “By another.” With that, it turned back to face the path toward the Crossroads, as if expecting more visitors at any moment.

Cassandra lowered her voice as they walked away. “Our mystery agent,” she suggested.

“It’s possible,” Jane said, thinking of the spirit guardians at the sanctuary. She sighed and glanced at her sister. “You’d better put on that ring.”

 

~~~

 

The books in the Vir’Dithara did not function like normal books. They were more like the murals in the sanctuary. Jane only needed to touch one to absorb its knowledge, the words and images appearing in her mind as if they’d been there all along. Most were poetic musings on ancient elven life or culture--though a few referenced Jane’s world. In one instance, she picked up a copy of what looked like _Hard In Hightown,_ only to find her memory of the plot and characters grow stronger, as though she’d finished it earlier that day, rather than four years previously. There was even an epilogue featuring Donnen and Lady Marielle, one she hadn’t recalled reading.

“Did you see this?” she asked Varric, holding up the book.

“You’re kidding!” he exclaimed, looking delighted despite himself. He took it from her. She watched his expression shift as he absorbed the words. When he recovered, all humor was gone from his face. He dropped the book back on the table. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I didn’t write that last bit,” he said, tugging on his earring.

The books were not the only strange magic they found in the library. There were circular statues that hummed with energy, one on each island. Dorian theorized that they were what kept the rocks afloat. The buzzing in Jane’s palm grew stronger whenever they were near one. One in particular seemed to affect the anchor, a large globe in what appeared to have been the central room of the library. The second time they passed it, a jolt of sharp pain shot up Jane’s arm. She hissed and jerked her arm back as if it were burned.

“What is it?” Cassandra asked, concerned.

“I don’t know,” Jane said, holding out her hand. The sparks were beginning to die down. “Lizzie?” she asked. There was no answer. She glanced around the area. “Lizzie?” she asked again, but her sister failed to materialize. Jane felt a twirl of panic in her stomach. “Lizzie? Are you there?”

That was met with silence. Jane told the others to stay put. Willing herself not to overreact, she traced back her steps through the last eluvian.

Eventually, she heard a noise.

“Lizzie?” she called, peering around the corner of a mural to find a hidden ledge.

Lizzie’s form appeared in a flash. Fire curled in her palm. She was poised to attack. She recognized Jane and blinked, the tension bleeding out of her.

“Maker’s breath,” she gasped. “You startled me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jane apologized. “You wandered off. I was worried.” She noticed that her sister’s face was much paler than when she’d first put on the ring. “What happened?”

Lizzie flinched, looking away. She weighed something in her mind, then looked back at Jane, holding out a book. “I found this,” she said.

Jane took it. The impression of words rose in her mind the moment her fingers touched the cover. A bright and colorful image appeared--a ring of people standing around some kind of four-legged beast. The lines were blurred; she could not make out much else.  

_“Beware the forms of Fen’Harel! The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises, a wanderer who knows much of the People and their spirits. He will offer advice that seems fair, but turns slowly to poison. Remember the price of treason, and keep in your heart the mercy of your Gods.”_

The vision faded. Jane blinked. “Interesting,” she said. “That must have been the Evanuris, after Fen’Harel started freeing slaves.” She looked at her sister. Lizzie was watching her carefully with a crease between her brows. “What is it?”

Lizzie opened her mouth. For a moment, it seemed like she might ask a question--but then she dropped her gaze and shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s nothing.” She gestured toward the area behind her. “There’s more of that blue veilfire here, by the way.”

Jane acknowledged the fire with a glance, but her attention returned to her sister. “Lizzie, is something wrong?”

Lizzie hesitated. “I….” She trailed off. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her free hand to her temple. “I don’t know. I think my mind’s playing tricks on me.”

“How do you mean?”

Lizzie didn’t respond. She just stood there, rubbing her head with two fingers, fire still flickering in her open palm. Jane bit her lip. Perhaps the exhaustion was becoming too much for her.

“I think we’re almost there,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. They’d found and activated two devices that helped them build a path to the island. “Once we confront the Qunari, we can find out where their base is, and then we’ll head back to Halamshiral.”

Lizzie nodded without opening her eyes. “Right,” she said distantly. “Good.”

Jane waited another moment. “We should get back to the others.”

Lizzie let out a breath, finally meeting Jane’s gaze. “Yes. We should.” There was a flicker of guilt in her expression. “I’m sorry. I won’t wander off again, I promise.”

Jane nodded. Curling her fingers, Lizzie killed the flame in her palm and vanished. It wasn’t until she was invisible again that Jane remembered the trouble with the anchor. By then, she was more concerned about Lizzie’s state of mind than anything else, and decided not to say anything. Hopefully, it would not happen again.

 

~~~

 

Jane’s hand grew worse. The pressure reached a boiling point just after they’d activated the final device. They had to pass through the center of the library again, and as they did, the large globe crackled, veins of green static lighting up the room. The mark exploded. Jane shrieked, clutching her hand. It was as though a dozen shards of glass were being pushed through her skin. She could feel her flesh tear, bursting open to let magic escape.

Lizzie appeared and was on her immediately. She took Jane’s left hand, enveloping it in a healing spell.  “What happened?” she exclaimed.

Jane grit her teeth. The pain receded. “I don’t know.”

“It was the same way when we found Telana,” Cassandra said.

“And in the watchtowers,” Dorian said. “It must be reacting to elven magic.”

Before Jane could reply, there was a deep hiss from across the room. They all turned to find the source of the noise. Three massive fear demons were approaching, lured by the noise and the flare of the anchor.

“The librarians,” Jane realized out loud.

Lizzie cursed. Cassandra drew her weapon and charged, letting out a yell. Dorian and Varric followed. Jane tried to stand, reaching for her sword, but Lizzie held her down and wouldn’t budge. She threw her free hand in the air; a barrier fell over the both of them.

 _“Lizzie,”_ Jane said, struggling.

“No,” Lizzie said. Terror was visible in her eyes, but her magic was steady. “Your hand isn’t ready--”

A librarian Fade-stepped next to them, crossing the room in a flash. Jane gathered all her strength. She shoved her sister away. The moment the connection between them broke, the pain rushed back up her arm, this time even worse. Magic burst through her glove, each pulse another shard of glass. Green light was all she could see.  

Lizzie was only thrown off for a second. Jane felt fingers close around the anchor again, a healing spell soothing her palm. As she sucked in breaths of air, the pain faded to something manageable and her vision returned. She blinked at where the demon had been. Its corpse was on the ground, the skin ripped off of its hideous face. She stared, then looked at her hand.

“What…?” she asked in a whisper. “Did the _anchor_ do that?”

Lizzie’s eyes were large. “I--,” she began, but then a second demon rose up behind her. It roared, bringing its claws down. The barrier shattered. Jane tried to push Lizzie to the side again, but her sister stayed firm this time, finishing the spell, forcing the magic to work faster.

The creature raised its claws again. “Lizzie!’ Jane shouted desperately. “Move!”

“Done,” Lizzie said, rolling off Jane and scrambling to get behind her.

Jane fumbled with her Veil quartz shield, her fingers still tingling. She got it in front of them just in time to hear a crack and feel the thud of the demon's attack. Lizzie landed a new barrier on both of them, and then blasted the demon with fire as she stood. Muttering a prayer under her breath, Jane fished into her pouch. She pulled out a vial of dragon’s blood. Popping the cork, she downed it in one gulp.

The metallic taste turned her stomach, making her cough against the urge to vomit, but it worked instantly. Her mind cleared and her pain turned to fuel. The room came into vivid focus. Lizzie had drawn her staff and was standing behind her, starting a new attack. Cassandra was still battling the last librarian on the other side of the room. Dorian and Varric were handling a group of spiders that must have smelled the blood--or perhaps they were manifestations created by the demons themselves.

Jane pushed herself up, heat pulsing in her veins. Her sword felt feather-light in her hand. She hefted it, breathed in, and launched herself at the demon.

The librarians were not clumsy, like pride demons, or stupid, like terrors. She could land blows, but at the cost of protecting herself. The creature kept itself deceptively open, its arms raised wide. Striking its torso--its weakest point--brought her in range of its claws. At the same time, her sister created tiny rifts around it, trying to eat at its energy. The rifts grew smaller each time; Jane knew her sister’s mana was beginning to falter.

“Behind you!” Cassandra shouted, panicked. Jane glanced back to see that the last librarian had Fade-stepped and was now directly behind Lizzie. They barely had time to react. Lizzie tried to zap it with a bolt of electricity, but the attack was too weak. The demon didn’t even falter. It arched and sunk its claws into Lizzie’s shoulder. Lizzie made a choked noise, her body going slack.

“Lizzie!” Jane cried. She dropped her shield and caught her sister. Dragging Lizzie with her, she tried to scramble back, out of harm’s way, but the other librarian appeared behind them, flanking them. Jane glanced between the two demons, pointing her sword at one and then the other, her mind whirring. The creatures loomed over them, inching forward.

Time seemed to slow. Cassandra was running toward them from the other side of the room. Varric was reloading Bianca, and Dorian was trying to keep the spiders at bay.

Jane looked down. Lizzie’s white leather vest bloomed red where the puncture had been. Her eyes were opened, but not very focused. She was too injured to lay another barrier.

Jane could drop her and fight, but she could only strike once.

There was nothing she could do.

_Unless…._

Jane grit her teeth. The anchor was pulsing again in her palm. She glanced at the torn remains of the first librarian while the steady beat of Cassandra’s armored boots echoed in her ears. Letting Lizzie go, she raised her left hand and squeezed her eyes shut.

 _Please_ , she begged the anchor, pushing at it with all she had. _Oh, Maker, please._

Power surged. The mark flared. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The pain was as intense as ever, but this time she was prepared. A noise fought its way out of her chest. The sound of her roar drowned out the shrieks of the demons in her ears.

Then, it was over. There was silence. When she opened her eyes, both demons were dead, torn to pieces by the magic in her hand. Cassandra slowed down, her feet coming to a halt as she took in the sight before her. Dorian had finished off the last of the spiders; he and Varric looked on in shock as well.

Jane turned to her sister, brushing any thought of the anchor aside. Lizzie had collapsed into a kneeling position. She was grasping her shoulder, trying to urge a healing spell over the wound. Jane crouched beside her.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

Lizzie struggled to move her shoulder. “I’ve had worse,” she said weakly.

Dorian knelt beside them. His own healing magic joined Lizzie’s. He looked relieved. “It’s deep, but it missed anything major,” he told Jane. “We need to get her to a real healer, however--the sooner, the better.”

Jane nodded. She looked at her sister. “Can you stand?”

Gripping Dorian with her good arm, Lizzie got up. He let her go gingerly. She looked shaky, but she remained on her feet. Jane sighed, eying the blood stain that took up a quarter of her sister’s torso.

“When we go through the next eluvian, stay invisible,” she said, keeping her voice steady. She gave her sister a firm glare. “No magic.”

Lizzie’s eyes flicked down to the anchor, but she didn’t argue. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to,” she admitted. “How’s your hand?”

Jane squeezed her palm. “It’s… tingling, but it doesn’t hurt.”

Lizzie accepted that with a nod. After another round of healing, she slipped the ring back on and disappeared. Jane felt her heart stutter at the idea that if anything happened to her sister, they wouldn’t know. But there was no time to think of that. She focused on the eluvian in front of them again.

“Alright,” she said to the others. “Let’s go meet the Viddasala.”

 

~~~

 

When they finally found her, the Viddasala was protected by a powerful saarebas who’d clearly been fed too much lyrium. She confirmed that Dragon’s Breath was a campaign for the South, and that the Qun believed the mystery agent disrupting their plans to be working for Fen’Harel. But she got away before Jane could find out anything more. The men she left behind attacked. After the number of demons Jane and her companions had killed that day, a dozen Qunari seemed almost like an afterthought. Afterward, she found a disc on one of the bodies, attached to a note in Qunlat.

“Maybe Leliana or Bull can get something out of this,” she said, frowning.

They saw the Archivist again. Despite its poor memory, it was able to provide them with the name of the Qunari base--the Darvaarad. It explained that the disc Jane had found was a keystone that would open up the path forward.

Lizzie took the ring off once they reached the Crossroads, much to Jane’s relief. She looked awful, but at least Jane could keep an eye on her this way. Dorian and Jane alternated between helping her, letting her lean on their shoulders. Jane promised she’d take her to the healers the moment they got back to the _chateau._

“I’ll take her,” Dorian insisted. “You’ll need to meet with the council.”

Jane didn’t like abandoning Lizzie, but Dorian was right. There was so much more at stake. “Thank you,” she told him.

 

~~~

 

Cullen was waiting on the other side of the eluvian. Jane did not miss the look of relief that flashed over his face when she came through with her sister. It quickly morphed into alarm as he spotted the blood on Jane’s armor and took in Lizzie’s condition.

“What happened?”

“We’re okay,” Lizzie assured him, clutching Jane. “It’s just my shoulder. It looks worse than it is.”

Cullen was still staring at the blood when Dorian emerged from the glass, shuddering. “Well! Thank the Maker that’s over.” Dorian brushed himself off, then scooped up Lizzie gently, careful to avoid her shoulder. He glanced at Cullen as he made for the door. “Ah. Good evening, Commander. Would love to stay and chat, but I really should get this one to a healer.”

Cullen recovered, blinking. “Ah, wait a moment--,” he started to say, but they were already gone. He ran a hand over his face, disappointed, and turned back to Jane.

“Demons,” Jane explained.

Cullen glanced over her. “You’re unharmed?”

“Yes,” she told him. “We have a lead on where the Qunari are located. Tell the council that we’ll meet in ten minutes, in the library. I just need Bull to translate something first.”

Cullen’s face took on a new emotion, something between pained and uncertain. “Jane,” he said quietly. “I… I need to speak with you.” He glanced at the Cassandra and Varric, who had come through the mirror and were now waiting at its base. “Privately.”

Jane studied him, confused. “Alright.” She tried not to react when he took her by the arm, just as he had just two nights ago, and guided her to the furthest part of the room. The tension between them was the only thing she could imagine he’d want to speak about, but he could not possibly expect to discuss that, here and now.

Cullen turned to face her. The glow of the eluvian lit him in soft whites and blues. It reminded her of how he looked at night, bathed in the moonlight that slanted through his roof. Even the little line in his brow matched the one he got when his mind kept racing and refused to let him sleep. She battled an urge to smooth it with her fingers. To hold him--to kiss him. The fact that he hadn’t removed his hand from her arm didn’t help.

She pushed those thoughts away. “What is it?” she asked.  

“I was… hoping to speak to both you and your sister,” he admitted, glancing at the door behind her.

That confused her further. “If you’d like, we can wait.”

“No,” he said. “No, that would be….” He looked at her, his eyes turning sad. “I…. We’ve had news. From Longbourn.”

Jane knew, then. “Oh,” she breathed, and that breath seemed to empty all the air from her body. She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. Her throat felt too thick to speak. She tried anyway. “My father.”

“Yes,” Cullen said, squeezing her arm gently. “I am so sorry.”

If he said anything beyond that, she couldn’t hear him. Tears burned her eyes. She battled to hold them back. This was not a shock, she told herself. She’d known this would happen. She’d _known._

But it had not been enough.

Hope…. Hope was a terrible thing. It was hard to see, and harder yet to kill. If she were honest with herself, a small part of her had imagined her father would survive past the Exalted Council--that she’d live, and he’d live, and she would see him again, tending to his flower bed, or hunched over a book in his study, or twitching his eyebrow at her mother. That somehow, the bright future he’d painted for her would come to pass, and he’d be there to see it. She’d tried so hard to steel herself against the disappointment, tried so hard to drown out the ridiculous wishes of her heart, but it had all been in vain. That was always the way of things, when it came to hope--even when one did not want it, even when one had no use for it, hope had a habit of twisting up in one’s heart like a weed that could not be stamped out.

“When?” she asked, her voice sounding hollow to her own ear.

“This morning,” Cullen replied.

That morning. When she’d been stuck in the Deep Roads, probably, dealing with the gaatlok.

She sucked in a breath. The reminder that the Qunari threat still hung over them helped, somehow. Her focus could not be broken; much as her father deserved to be mourned, it would have to wait.

She pulled herself away from the edge. Each breath she took was steadier than the last. When she took a physical step back, Cullen dropped his hand from her arm.

“Thank you for telling me,” she told him firmly. “I know it can’t have been easy.”

“I…,” Cullen said. His eyes flicked between hers. “Jane. It’s nothing compared to how you must feel.”

“All the same, I appreciate it,” she said stiffly. “I’ll make sure someone tells Lizzie. If you would, please call the council. The library, in….” She paused. “In fifteen minutes.”

He looked at her, then nodded and left. Jane returned to the mirror.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked.

“My father is dead,” she told them. The words felt surreal in her mouth, but to her credit, her voice was steady.

Varric’s face fell. “Shit,” he said gravely.

Cassandra placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Jane.”

She acknowledged their sympathy, murmuring her thanks. “Someone needs to tell Lizzie,” she went on. “When she’s well enough to hear it. But I need to meet with the council, and then….” She broke off and darted a glance at Varric’s face. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but--”

“Hey,” Varric said, stopping her with a wave. “Don’t worry. You’ve got enough on your plate.” He turned to go, then paused, scratching his chin. “I really am sorry. He always struck me as a decent guy.”

“He was,” Jane agreed. Her throat threatened to close again, but she swallowed, watching him leave. Once he was gone, she let her eyes fall closed again for a moment. Exhaustion enveloped her like a blanket. The world felt gray and dim, and _wrong,_ as though a bit of the Crossroads had come back with her.

But there was work to be done.

She lifted her head. Cassandra was watching her. “Where can I find Bull?” she asked.

 

~~~

 

By the time they’d all gathered in the _chateau_ library, Jane had schooled her emotions as much as possible. She’d found Bull, translated the note, and eaten a large bowl of porridge that Odette had reluctantly brought her from the servants’ chambers. The poor elf had tried to convince Jane that there was much better food to be had in the kitchens, but Jane knew that her stomach needed fuel and wouldn’t be able to handle anything richer than the drizzle of honey she’d added to the thin gruel.

She avoided Cullen and Josephine’s gazes as they stood over the makeshift war table, and was grateful that Leliana’s seemed as sharp as ever. It was as if she could tell Jane had no time for sympathy. Bull had been the same way, focusing only on her note and asking her pertinent questions about the men she’d fought.

“They’re meeting an hour after midnight, Par Vollen time,” Jane said as Cullen passed the note’s translation to Leliana. “At a place called the Darvaarad. As long as the keystone works, we have plenty of time to stop them.”

Josephine let out a sigh. “The negotiations may have gone completely off track, but at least uncovering this Dragon’s Breath will remind everyone how much they owe us.”

Leliana gave Jane a sidelong glance before speaking. “Not when the Inquisition is responsible for that threat,” she said carefully.

There was a pause as the other three caught on to what Leliana was implying.

“This is our fault,” Jane realized, shocked.

“Fault?” Leliana said. “No. But it is our responsibility. The gaatlok barrels were smuggled in on the Inquisition manifest.”

Cullen gaped at her. “How are we supposed to fight a war when we can’t even trust our own people?” he sputtered.

“Do we know who?” Jane asked.

Leliana shrugged. “We have our suspicions. Several elven workers have gone missing. Those whose backgrounds we were able to trace came from Kirkwall.”

“Maker,” Cullen muttered. He shook his head. “I remember when Kirkwall was at its worst. Some elves converted to the Qun, hoping to find a better life.”

“And the Qun turned them into spies,” Jane surmised.

Josephine seemed lost, letting her board drop to the table. She placed her hands on either side of it and slumped forward. “I have fought,” she bit out angrily, “to protect the Inquisition in this Exalted Council. And for what?  So we can deceive and threaten those we claim to protect?”

“Once we locate the spies--” Leliana began.

“This isn’t about the spies!” Josephine snapped, glaring at her. “We have acted as though we are the superior party at every turn. At every turn! _You_ hid the Qunari body.” She turned and jabbed a finger in Cullen’s direction. “And _you’ve_ all but seized control of the Winter Palace.”

“We did what was right,” Cullen shot back, crossing his arms, “not what was politically convenient.”

“Politically convenient?” Josephine echoed, incredulous. “Do you realize what this has cost us? All we have done is given Ferelden and Orlais cause to unite. They are planning to dismantle us as we speak.” She looked back at the table, closing her eyes. The anger bled out of her. “And perhaps they are right.”

The anchor throbbed, and then exploded, just as it had in the library. Jane cried out. Her palm burned and the pain spread, faster than it had before. It must have only lasted seconds, but to Jane, it seemed like an eternity. She was left trembling on her knees in front of her council. They were all staring at her, in various states of horror. Even Leliana looked concerned.

“Inquisitor--,” Josephine began, recovering first.

“It’s fine,” Jane said, rasping. She stood, flexing her hand. “It's fine. I…. I just need to make it to the Darvaarad.”

Leliana and Josephine exchanged a quick glance, while Cullen kept staring in disbelief.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said again. “We know that the Qun will not act until after midnight. That gives us time. Perhaps you should rest. Eat. Take a bath--”

“No,” Jane said, though her head felt dizzy. She raised a shaking hand to fix her hair, tucking a few strands back from her face. “They could have changed their plans. Or we could get lost on the way. We need every minute granted to us--”

“Inquisitor,” Leliana interrupted firmly. “You have not slept. You are in no condition to fight. If you go now, you will not return.”

Jane sighed and looked away. “Given the present circumstances, perhaps that would be for the best,” she said. Silence followed, and she glanced up at her council's shocked faces. She backtracked, not having meant to be so forward. “I--I mean. I fully intend to stop the Viddasala before….” She stopped herself.

Leliana’s gaze softened. “If you go now,” she said, more gently, “you may not even make it that far.”

Jane opened her mouth to reply. Instead, she let out her breath. Leliana wasn’t wrong. Everything else was lost; if she did not stop Dragon’s Breath, then it all would have been for nothing.

“Fine,” Jane said reluctantly. She turned to Josephine. “Please inform the others that we’ll leave an hour before midnight. I’ll have Odette wake me.” She looked at Leliana. “And let the Divine know that we are prepared to disband. Save Orlais and Ferelden the trouble. I do not want this to be seen as….” She paused, searching for the words. “This is not grandstanding,” she settled on. “We’ll stop Dragon’s Breath because it is the right thing to do, not because it could save the Inquisition.” If Leliana was surprised, she did not show it. Jane turned to Cullen last. “Commander,” she began, then faltered as her voice cracked. She touched a hand to her forehead.

When she didn’t speak, he came forward and, to Jane’s surprise, gathered her in his arms. She let herself be held for a moment, let herself simply bask in his nearness, turning her face into his shoulder so she could not see Josephine or Leliana.

He let her go. “I’ll have guards posted at the eluvian.”

She nodded, coming back to herself. “Thank you,” she said, taking a step back. “Thank you all. Regardless of what happens tonight, it has been an honor working with you. I’ll be in my chambers if anyone needs me.”

 

~~~

Leaving the library, Jane did intend to sleep. She knew her body was tired--she could feel the fatigue dragging her down, like too much deadweight on a ship. But when she got to her room, the Fade seemed far away. Energy burned in her veins. Something inside of her was wound tightly, and she had no idea how to unravel it.

So she sat on the corner of the bed instead, still dressed in her blood splattered leathers, and cradled her head in her hands. Time passed. Her thoughts turned to her father, but she did not cry. Crying seemed an enormous task, and she was so very tired. Instead, she wondered how her mother was doing, how Kitty and Lydia were handling things. Whether Mary knew. Who had made the funeral arrangements? Would they bury him at Longbourn, or in the Marches? She doubted she'd ever see his grave, but a part of her hoped they'd choose Ostwick. He was a Trevelyan, after all--and as far as they'd strayed from home, he had always worn his emerald ring, and had always kept a woven crest over the desk in his library. She could picture the crowned horse, with the motto written out beneath it: _Modest In Temper, Bold In Deed._ Once, on a visit to Skyhold, her father had told her _she_ was the only Trevelyan in her generation to live up to those words, and listed off a few choice parodies for her sisters and cousins until she begged him to stop, blushing and trying not to laugh.

 _Oh, Father,_ she thought.

A soft, hesitant knock on her door startled her. She cleared her throat, smoothing back her hair. “Come in.”

She’d expected Odette, with the bath that Josephine had suggested, but Cullen entered instead. Jane sat up straight. She had not lit any candles, and the heavy curtains were drawn, so she could not make out his expression. He paused before speaking.

“I wasn’t sure…. I thought you might still be awake,” he said softly, as if explaining himself.

Jane nodded, letting her gaze drop.

“You really should rest,” he added, closing the door behind him.

“I know,” she said without moving.

There was an awkward beat. “Jane,” Cullen said. She looked up. He was still standing just inside the doorframe, his arms hanging at his side. He hesitated before speaking. “You didn’t seem surprised when the anchor….” He didn’t finish his sentence. She looked away. “How long have you known?” he asked.

She wondered what he meant. Known that the anchor was no longer stable? Known that the damage was permanent? Known that it was killing her?

She chose the last one. “A month or so.”

He let out his breath. “You should have told me.”

She toed the carpet by the bed. There was nothing to say to that, now.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Cassandra,” she said. “Lizzie. Varric and Dorian.”

His shoulders shifted and she thought she saw a nod. Silence stretched between them. “Is…. Is this why you said no?” he asked after a moment. It was the question she’d been waiting for. His tone held no accusation, and that made her feel worse than anything.

“Yes,” she admitted, hanging her head. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if I told you, you’d…. I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead. “Fall apart. I needed us all to be strong for the Exalted Council. And if you knew, I wouldn’t…. I would have….” She swallowed. “As it was, I was barely able to keep it together.”

“Jane,” he said again. He came to the side of the bed and knelt on one knee, taking her hands in both of his. “I…. I would have….” He stopped himself. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I want to help. How can I help?”

She stared at the ground, not wanting to see his face. His bare fingers wrapped around her gloved ones. She could feel the heat of his skin through the leather. She wished she could crawl into that heat and never leave, but she couldn’t be so selfish.

He took a breath. “Do you remember what the Maker told Andraste, when He first appeared to her? The verse with the ocean of sorrow.”

She thought her way through the Chant. It took her a minute. _“‘Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing,’”_ she recited slowly. _“‘An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr. Within My creation, none are alone.’”_

Cullen squeezed her fingers. “Yes. Exactly. The Maker assured Andraste that He never intended us to be alone. He left us, but He left us together. Just as he created us. We are meant to support each other. Inspire each other. Help each other.” He ducked his head to catch her gaze. “Love each other.”

Jane stared at the floor. “Hurt each other.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Sometimes we do that, too.” He paused. “And there have been times in my life where that was all I could see. I know it’s… tempting to lock yourself away, believing your burdens are yours to carry. For a while, I thought speaking the truth would… would harm the few people I cared about. I thought that if others knew the depths of my heart, it would make me appear weak. That I needed to protect those parts of me with vigilance.” In her peripheral sight, she watched him hesitate. “But I was wrong. We never are locked away, no matter how hard we try. It is impossible. _Trusting_ others, instead of avoiding them, made me stronger. Trusting _you_ made me stronger.” She finally met his gaze. His eyes were endless in the dark. “I only wish to do the same for you.”

Jane shook her head, her vision blurring. She couldn’t speak. The tears that wouldn’t come earlier pricked at her eyes, and if she spoke a single word, they’d fall.

Cullen sighed and pressed his forehead to her hands. “I love you.”

Jane broke, taking a jagged breath. “That’s why,” she choked. She was ashamed at how high and fragile her voice sounded. She pressed on, ignoring the hot tears running down her face. “That’s why I couldn’t tell you. Because you’re going to lose me, and you’ve already lost so many things. Cassandra was worried I’d leave you. That I would break your heart. I promised her that would never happen, and now it’s _happening,_ and I can’t stop it. You yourself have said that without me, you might have taken lyrium again.” She shuddered. “I’m… I’m terrified of what this will do to you.”

She was openly sobbing now. Cullen didn’t speak or move immediately, keeping his brow against her fingers. When she quieted some, he pulled back and looked up at her.

“If I lost you, I’d be devastated. Of course I’d be devastated.” He reached up one hand to brush away some of her tears, his thumb running lightly over her cheek. His voice softened. “But whatever Cassandra feared…. Jane. Look at me.” She did. “That was a long time ago. I’ll never be the man I was before.” He searched her eyes. “Because I'll never be without you, not truly. Even if I lost you. Know that, no matter what happens, I _will_ love you. And I'll spend every waking moment of my life trying to be someone who deserves you.”

Jane sniffed, blinking rapidly. She placed a hand over the one on her cheek. “Cullen. You _are.”_

He held her gaze for a moment, pressing his lips together. “But… if there is a chance….” He glanced down. “I would never stop you from going to the Darvaarad. You must know that.” His grip tightened on her cheek. “But please. Please come back to me.” She shook her head, about to speak. He was already correcting himself. “I know, you can't--.” He exhaled harshly, then gave her a pleading look. “You can't make a promise like that. But promise me you’ll _try._ What you said in the library.... It… it isn’t like you to give up.”

“You saw my hand,” Jane said. “I'm dying.”

“You can't know that for sure,” Cullen said.

“The magic--it’s consuming me.”

“Then… then maybe we can amputate it,” Cullen said. She shuddered at the thought. He pressed on. “There must be something we can do. What does Elizabeth say? She understands the anchor better than anyone.”

“She….”

Jane fell silent. She could tell him about her sister’s theories and her research--about how Lizzie had achieved some success in calming the mark, as long as they avoided elven magic. But that would just give him more reason to hope.

And hope was a terrible thing.

Before she could decide, there was a sharp rapping at the door. “Inquisitor?”

Jane cleared her throat. “That must be Odette,” she said.

Cullen squeezed her hand and stood, going to the door. Jane rubbed her right sleeve against her cheek, trying to clear what was left of her tears. She heard the murmur of Odette’s surprise, a whispered exchange, and then the clacking of porcelain on porcelain. The door closed. When she looked up, Cullen stood by the vanity, pouring water from a jug into a bowl. It seemed Josephine expected Jane to bathe before sleeping.

He glanced over his shoulder and gestured. “Come.”

She stood. He dampened a cloth in the water as she approached. Turning to face her, he touched her chin with his free hand, tilting her head up.

“May I?” he asked.

Wordlessly, she nodded once. Cullen began to wipe the dirt and tears and sweat from her face and neck. There was a drop of scented oil in the water--mint and elfroot, if she had to guess. She closed her eyes, letting herself be lulled by the gentle pressure of his warm hand beneath the cloth. He got to the edge of her vest and stopped. She reached up to undo the buttons of her leathers. He drifted away to give her space, and she heard him rinsing the cloth in the bowl.

She slid off the shirt, and then after a beat, took off the undershirt and breastband as well. Cullen glanced back. He froze, clearly surprised to see her bare. But Jane figured it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. She kept going, shedding her pants and boots and smalls. Soon she was naked, save for the glove that covered the anchor. That, she could not bring herself to see. Cullen cleared his throat and ran more clean water from the pitcher over the cloth, then went to her.

He was thorough. He brushed over every inch of her chest, her stomach, her legs. There was nothing seductive about it--even when he washed the curls between her legs or the swell of her breasts, he was more methodical than anything else--and yet, Jane felt a sort of intimacy curl warmly in her belly. The elfroot soothed her muscles, and the mint smelled fresh and clean. When he was done, he helped her sit at the vanity. He undid her hair from its bun. Thick strands brushed her arms and shoulders. He combed his fingers through them, using a little water to clean them of dust. She sighed softly, letting her head fall back. The tugs grew more purposeful, and she realized with a pang that he was braiding her hair. She glanced at the mirror, watching the intensity of his focus, the slight furrow to his brow.

Her chest hurt. Something inside her loosened. This, she realized, was what she'd needed. A simple reminder that no matter what happened, there was one person in Thedas, at least, who knew her for the person she was. Who understood that the Inquisitor was trying her best. That the Herald of Andraste needed to be cared for, sometimes.

That Jane Trevelyan slept with a braid in her hair.

He tied off the end of her braid with a twine and helped her stand. He glanced at her left arm, then met her eyes. She realized what he was asking.

“It… it won’t be pretty,” she warned him.

“It’s a wound,” he said. He touched the edge of her glove. “It may need treatment.”

She didn’t stop him.

As it revealed itself, the anchor’s light turned the room sickly green. Jane winced. The gashes in her skin reached nearly her elbow now, long abrasions that would not heal, no matter what her sister believed. There was no blood, as if the skin had cauterized itself by tearing open. Light shone through the cracks. There were no sparks now--only brightness. Her palm had two rows of blisters around the anchor itself. She remembered the library, and what had felt like shards of glass.

She glanced at Cullen’s face, worried, but he was studying her arm with neutral professionalism, his eyebrows knitting in concentration.

“Medical supplies?” he asked.

“Under the vanity,” she told him.

He found the chest. Pouring the dirty water into a wash bin, he refilled the bowl, taking a fresh cloth as well. Without even blinking, he took her scarred hand in his. The skin was tender. She inhaled sharply.

“Sorry,” he said.

She shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said.

He was gentle after that. First he washed her mangled arm; then he used a cooling salve to cover it. He pulled out a set of bandages from the chest. Before long, her arm was wrapped in neat, tight bindings, the work of someone who’d treated injuries without a healer before.

There was an awkward moment when he finished.  A flush crept up Cullen's face as he dropped her hand. She was still naked, she realized, and there was no longer a pretense for him to touch her.

“I… I should,” he began nervously, rubbing his neck. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

Before he could turn away, Jane reached out with her right hand, grabbing his wrist. “Thank you,” she said. She held him there, stopping him from leaving, searching for more words. Needing to express how much she loved him, how sorry she was. How right he’d been. How his simple act of caring had lifted a weight from her chest, and how she’d been a fool to think otherwise.

Some tension left him when she moved toward him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He took a breath, then pulled her tight against him, his face buried in her hair, as if she might slip away. He was warm, warmer than the summer air, and his skin smelled like leather and sweat and oil. The pull of him was intoxicating.

She wanted him more than anything.

She shifted her head to kiss him gently. He made a quiet gasp of surprise. Her lips captured his once, twice, and then a third time. She pulled back to gauge his reaction. His eyes were closed, and his body was perfectly still. She was not even sure he was breathing.

“Cullen?” she tried softly.  

“Jane,” he sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. His eyes half-opened. His throat bobbed. “You… you should sleep.”

“I'd rather you kissed me,” she whispered.

And so he did.

Jane’s blood surged, bright and hot. Her head was light, and she felt like she was spinning. Just being pressed up against him chased out the lingering darkness that had gathered inside her. The pulse between her legs made her believe she could take him right then and there, if she wanted. For a moment, she worried he would cut it all short--that he’d push her away, in some vain effort to make her rest, to protect her from herself. But apparently, he was as lost as she was, because he deepened the kiss instead. His tongue brushed into her mouth like the stroke of a quill, as if he could draw out the words he’d wanted her to say--the promises he’d wanted her to make.

At that thought, she pulled back quite suddenly. She looked into his startled eyes. “Ask me again,” she said.

“What?” he asked, a little breathless.

“Ask me again.”

He blinked, confused. “I…. Ask you again? What, to promise you'll come home?”

“No, not that,” she said. Her heart was in her throat. “Please, Cullen. _Ask me again._ Give me something to come back to.”

Cullen stared as the realization dawned in his eyes. His surprise morphed into something else, something sharp and dark and hard. She loved him in moments like this, seeing the confidence that hid beneath years of self-doubt and restraint. He pulled her against him, his eyes boring into hers.

“Marry me,” he said.

 _“Yes,”_ she gasped.

Their next kiss made her weak, twisting her insides like a drop from a cliff, and she clung to him desperately. The relief of him knowing, of him being there, of him still wanting her, threatened to overwhelm her. She needed to feel his bare skin. Without breaking the kiss, her hands went to his waist. His stomach was sticky with sweat, firm and hot. She kneaded it, enjoying the feel of his muscles, before lifting his shirt. He broke away to help her. Criss-crossing his arms, he pulled it over his head and tossed it on the ground. Soon, she was running her hands over his bare chest, tangling her fingers in tiny blonde hairs. He dragged her back to him, devouring her mouth like a man starved.

It was all so familiar--the taste of his lips, the feel of his body, the way he tilted her chin back so he could kiss her neck, and down to her breasts, teasing her nipples to hardness. They followed the motions, the steps to a dance they both knew so well. She pressed her hips against him just so, and he groaned. He nipped at that spot on her throat, and she gasped. His fingers slipped between her lower lips, finding her soaked, and shuddered in her arms. When she pulled him back toward the bed, he let her lead, just as he would in a waltz.

Jane knew on some level that everything outside that room was still broken. There were layers inside of her, too, that she did not want to think about--anxiety, guilt, sorrow. Pain. Regret. But for now, Cullen was what she needed. And, Maker, did she need him. She needed him like air, like food, like water. She needed something fair in this unfair world, something solid to right the foundation that had been ripped out from under her.

And when he settled above her on the bed, caging her with his thick arms and broad chest--when he thrust his cock inside of her, again and again and again, making her shudder, making her whimper his name into his ear, making her come apart around him before he buried himself inside her and found his release--for a few blessed moments, she was _free_. She wasn’t mourning, she wasn't dying, she wasn't lost.  

She was simply home.

Afterwards, limp and gleaming with sweat, she lay nestled in his arms. “Will you stay?” she murmured, thinking he might follow Josephine’s general rule about beds and Orlais.

He huffed against her hair, pulling her more firmly against him. “Do you even need to ask?” he whispered softly, tracing her spine with a light touch.

And she didn’t, she supposed. As long as she needed him, Cullen would be there. Pressed against his chest, her bandaged arm draped over him, she drifted off to sleep.

 

~~~

 

Cullen woke her several hours later, murmuring and shaking her shoulder. The room was pitch black. She was disorientated at first, but then it all came back to her. The Exalted Council. The eluvians.

The Qun.

Josephine had been right. Now that she’d slept, she felt a hundred times better. She lit candles and began to dress, blinking the sleep from her eyes, while Cullen left to prepare in his own room. She winced at the stench of her leathers, but she knew she would grow used to it. Mostly, it was sweat. The worst of the blood and gore had ended up on her armor, which would have been sent for cleaning.

Something else occurred to her as she stretched her shoulders. Cullen had finished inside of her. Mentally, she counted back the days since the last time she’d bled. To be safe, she would need to take one of the vials of witherstalk that was tucked into the medical chest on the vanity. It was such a routine thing to consider that she had already pulled out the vial and uncapped it before she even second guessed herself.

But then she did. She looked at the mirror, meeting her own gaze. Had none of this happened--if her anchor were fine, if her father had not fallen ill, if the Hakkonites had not resurged--if the Exalted Council hadn’t been now, if the Qun had not appeared, if this agent of Fen’Harel had not led the Viddasala on a chase through the eluvians--then she and Cullen would have probably been husband and wife by now. They would have been trying for a family. If his seed had taken root last night, and Jane did not take the witherstalk, the resulting child would be the child they could have had, in a more perfect world.  

Her chances of coming back from the Darvaarad were still poor. If by some miracle, she _did_ come back, the anchor would probably consume her in matter of months, if not weeks. And even if she survived _that_ , even if Lizzie devised some way to save her life, Jane had already given orders to disband the Inquisition. There was absolutely no certainty in her life, no room for anything like a family.

And yet….

She remembered her promise to her father. That she and Cullen would name their first child for him.

“Trevelyan,” she whispered to herself, imagining it as a first name. She turned the vial over. Biting her lip, she studied the brown liquid. “Trevelyana.”

 _Modest in temper,_ she thought to herself. _Bold in deed._

“Inquisitor?” Odette’s voice called from behind the door, accompanied by a firm knock.

Jane started. “Yes?” she asked.

“Are you ready?” the muffled voice asked. “Your council is waiting.”

Jane swallowed. “Um. Just one moment.”

She came to a decision. Without taking it, she dropped the brown vial back into the chest. Pulling on her gloves, she told herself not to overthink things. There was a good chance that nothing had occurred in the first place.

That did not stop her heart from racing--and for the first time in weeks, not in fear.

“I’m ready,” she said, opening the door. Odette bobbed her head. Jane squeezed her anchored hand into a fist and followed the tiny elf down the hallway. She held her head high. Despite everything, she felt she could take on ten armies alone.

Maybe, she thought, hope was not such a terrible thing after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I spent August away from my computer, so I'm sorry for the long wait. Hopefully the XXL chapter makes up for it. 
> 
> Also, I included more in-game dialogue than usual. That council scene always gets me.


	8. in arrogance wrought

Jane watched the dragon she’d released rise from the ramparts of the Darvaarad. Its silhouette grew smaller and smaller in the night sky. When she’d first heard it roar--when she’d realized what the qunari were hiding behind the stone walls of their fortress--her heart had sunk to her stomach. So many of her recent prayers went unanswered; it seemed like a cruel irony that _this_ would be the thing Andraste bestowed upon her, a day too late for her to feel grateful.

Her very own Hakkon.

But then she’d seen the dragon itself and recognized the markings on its back. Several years ago, she’d summoned and killed an Abyssal High Dragon in the Western Approach, only to learn that Abyssal High Dragons were peaceful creatures and dangerously close to extinction. Since then, she’d made an effort to study the differences between the breeds. Dragons were rare, intelligent creatures. As long as they posed no threat, she preferred not to harm them.

“Well,” Varric said, squinting into the distance. “Hopefully _that_ doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”

“It won’t,” Jane assured him. “She’s a Green Mossimmer. They’re docile by nature.”

“Ah, yes,” Dorian said dryly. He brushed the singed hem of his sleeve. _“‘Docile by nature’._ That would explain all the fire she was spitting at us a moment ago.”

Jane gave him a pointed look. “The qunari treated her terribly. Of course she tried to defend herself. Wouldn’t you?”

Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she missed Dorian’s response. The rest of the qunari soldiers were retreating toward an intact eluvian on the other side of the ramparts. The Viddasala led them, her saarebas close behind.

“Another eluvian,” Cassandra observed, following Jane’s gaze.

“Of course,” Dorian said. “You know, were I not so incredibly handsome, I’d be in serious danger of swearing off mirrors by the end of all this.”

“Where are they going?” Lizzie’s voice asked, a little too close for Jane’s liking. She was supposed to stay back when the enemy was in sight. “This is their base, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jane said. She tightened her grip on her shield with a frown. “They’re abandoning it.”

The qunari forces were decimated. The barrels at the Winter Palace had been discovered and neutralized. Making more gaatlok would require finding and capturing a second dragon--an impossible task, by any stretch of the imagination. And every city in the South had been warned of a possible invasion.

Dragon’s Breath had failed.

In Jane’s experience, people became most dangerous when they knew a situation was hopeless. The Viddasala may have lost the war, but she could eke out one final victory, if she wanted. After all, she still had a trump card left to play: her saarebas. She could head to Halamshiral, or Denerim, or Starkhaven, and go out in a blaze of glory.  

Jane had to stop her. Exchanging a quick look with Cassandra, she motioned forward. They drew their weapons. At the sound of Cassandra’s war cry, the qunari soldiers turned with their spears raised.

Jane charged.

The anchor flared before she got very far, spitting out a flurry of static. She cried out. It had been growing worse ever since they’d arrived, reacting to the fortress’s near-endless graveyard of broken eluvians and elven artifacts. The mirror behind the Viddasala tugged at her hand like a magnet.  

Invisible fingers brushed her wrist.

 _“Don’t,”_ she gasped in warning. “Don’t you dare.” They were less than five yards from a half-dozen qunari warriors. If Lizzie appeared now, she could be killed.

The touch vanished.

The Viddasala held up one hand to stop her men from attacking. She looked down at Jane in pity and disgust. “Dear Inquisitor,” she said. “You have so little time left. You must finally see the truth. Elven magic already tore the sky apart. If the agents of Fen’Harel are not stopped, you will shatter the world.”

Jane flexed her fingers, breathing out. The pain faded to a dull throb in her palm. “I’ve _told_ you," she hissed. "The Inquisition does not work for Fen’Harel.”

“Come, Inquisitor,” the Viddasala said, with the tone of a parent scolding a child. “I am the eyes and ears of the Qunari. Do you think you can deceive me?” She nodded toward the anchor. “You would have died from that mark on your hand if not for the help of one of their chief agents. The same agent who led you to Skyhold. Who gave the orb to Corypheus, then founded the Inquisition.”

There was a beat. Jane stared at her, baffled. She couldn’t possibly mean--

 _“Solas,”_ the Viddasala said. “Agent of Fen’Harel.”

 _“What?”_ Cassandra exclaimed.

The Viddasala’s expression shifted to one of mild surprise. Her eyes flicked over their faces. “You did not know?”

“He… he wanted the orb,” Jane said. “Why would he give it to Corypheus?”

The Viddasala shrugged. “Perhaps he was tasked with removing evidence of his group’s interference.” She narrowed her eyes. “We thought you were his ally. But it appears he tricked us both.” She shouted something in Qunlat over her shoulder. The qunari soldiers stood down. They began to cross through the eluvian, one by one, as the Viddasala turned back to Jane. _“Panehaden,_ Inquisitor. Our fight is not with your people. If it is any comfort, Solas will not outlive you.”

With that, she disappeared into the mirror, the saarebas at her heels. The fortress fell silent. Jane stared at nothing, shocked.

 _Solas…_ an agent of Fen’Harel. It simply wasn’t possible. He had been a steadfast companion, and a friend. A lover, even, to her sister. Never once had his goals seemed at odds with those of the Inquisition. For Maker’s sake, she had seen him _die_ for her in the false future at Redcliffe--had seen his lifeless body tossed to the ground, while she’d stood by helpless, unable to move.

The meaning behind the Viddasala’s words hit her.

_If it is any comfort, Solas will not outlive you._

The qunari weren’t going to Halamshiral, or any other city in the South. They were going after Solas. Jane didn’t have time to work out his loyalties--not when he could be in danger.

She turned to face the others. “Come on. We need to find Solas before they do.”

Lizzie appeared, pulling off her ring. Tension seemed to tug at her edges, like a bowstring drawn taught. “Wait,” she said in a thin voice.

“I won’t let them hurt him,” Jane promised.

“That’s….” Lizzie clenched her jaw. She looked away, as if the sight of Jane was too much to bear. “That’s not what I meant.”

Jane stared at her sister. “You don’t think they’re _right_ about this, do you?”

Lizzie hesitated. She looked so distraught that Jane felt a wave of sympathy. This was much harder on her sister--of course it was. Between their father passing, Jane’s hand growing worse, and the wound Lizzie had received from the demons in the library--to hear _anything_ about Solas at a time like this--it was a wonder she was even still standing.

Jane moved toward her, lowering her voice. “Whatever Solas is, he was one of us.” Lizzie didn’t speak. Jane realized her sister was trembling. She laid a hand on Lizzie’s arm. “He _was. You_ know better than anyone. How many times did he save one of our lives? I don’t care what the qunari say, Solas would never--”

 _“Stop,”_ Lizzie pleaded, squeezing her eyes shut. “Just… stop, for one second.  _Please.”_

Jane held her tongue. Lizzie stood in silence, conflict twisting up her face. She came to a decision. Taking Jane by the arm, she led them both away, giving them some privacy. When Jane glanced back, the others looked bewildered.

Whatever Lizzie wanted to say took a few more seconds to rise to the surface. Rubbing her arm above the elbow, she hung her head forward. “You’re going to think I’m insane,” she murmured.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Lizzie hugged herself. There were tense lines around her mouth, as if keeping it closed was a battle.

A battle she lost.

Her eyes met Jane’s. “I think that Solas is Fen’Harel.”

Jane understood each word individually; she could not process them together as a sentence. “You _what?”_

“I think that Solas is Fen’Harel,” Lizzie repeated. She gathered herself, taking a quick breath. “Look. You met Mythal. Which means Fen’Harel could still be….” She waved a hand in a vague circle before clutching herself again. “Out there. Hypothetically.”

Jane had already acknowledged that fact. Between the visions at the sanctuary, and the Qun’s firm insistence that Fen’Harel was targeting them, it seemed likely that Mythal was not the only one who’d survived all these years in secret. “Yes, but--”

Lizzie didn’t let her finish. “And we know that someone was disrupting the Qun’s plans. The spirits at the temple. The demons in the library. All that blue veilfire.”

“The mystery agent,” Jane agreed. Then her eyes grew wide as Lizzie’s meaning dawned on her. “What, you think that was _Solas?”_

“Yes,” Lizzie said. Guilt briefly replaced the tension in her face. “I’ve thought so since the Deep Roads. There were… little hints, everywhere. But I… I wasn’t certain until the Viddasala said his name.”

Jane’s gaze slipped to a point behind her sister. Against her wishes, that part of the puzzle fit. The agent was a mage who seemed to know quite a bit about elven magic. _And_ it would explain why the qunari thought Solas was involved in the first place.

“Think about it,” Lizzie continued. She began to speak faster, her voice gaining clarity as she built her case. “He knew everything about the Veil, and the Fade. And the ancient elves. He spoke elven! _No one_ speaks elven. Even the Dalish aren’t fluent. And you heard the way he talked about Arlathan.”

“He saw memories in the Fade.”

“That’s what he claimed,” Lizzie said. “But what if some part of him had been there? What if he were like Flemeth?”

Jane tried to consider the possibility for her sister’s sake, but it seemed too ridiculous. She shook her head. “Surely we’d have noticed,” she said. “Surely _you_ would have noticed.” Lizzie winced and looked down, a pained expression flickering over her face. Jane rushed to correct herself. “As a mage, I meant, not…not because….” She trailed off, feeling badly.

“If it’s similar to possession, then no,” Lizzie said tightly. “I wouldn't. Even templars in the Circle can’t tell for sure. Until…. Well. Until it becomes obvious.” She looked at Jane again. “Did Morrigan know about her mother?”

Jane paused. “No,” she admitted.

Lizzie gave her a weak shrug, a _‘there you have it’._ “And he understood the anchor,” she went on. “He could fix your hand after barely even studying it. It’s very difficult magic. I’ve been trying to grasp it for _years._ And it’s not just me. Cillian. Dorian. Fiona. Victoria. None of us can control it. Not like… not like he could.”

That much was true. Jane brushed her forehead with her fingers. “Corypheus said _he_ created the anchor,” she said slowly.

“Using the orb,” Lizzie reminded her. “The orb that... the orb that we were told was elven. Maybe whatever Corypheus built, the magic still responded to….” She broke off, squeezing herself smaller. “I don’t know. My point is that he knew _so many things.”_

“That hardly means--”

“And yet,” Lizzie continued, interrupting her, “he was completely ignorant when it came to the Chantry, and the Circle. As a _mage.”_

“Because he was an apostate,” Jane said. “He travelled alone.”

Lizzie’s expression twisted. “Yes. _'A_ _wanderer_ ,’” she said, quoting the book from the library. _“‘Who knows much of the People and their spirits. The Dread Wolf_ _comes in humble guises.’_ And what about the murals?” Desperation had begun to sneak into her voice. She motioned a little wildly toward the fortress behind them. “Didn’t you see the painting in the tower? The self-portrait of Fen’Harel?”

Jane had seen it--a mural of an elven man dwarfed by an immense wolf. Lizzie didn’t have to say what she was thinking; it looked like the ones that Solas had painted at Skyhold.

“The styles are similar,” she admitted. “But a lot of elven art looks the same, doesn't it?”

“It’s not just the styles,” Lizzie insisted, her eyes bright. “It’s….” She inhaled sharply. _“Jane,”_ she pleaded, her voice breaking. “He painted _wolves.”_

The blood in Jane’s veins chilled. There _were_ wolves in the murals at Skyhold. And though she’d never been able to suss out what Solas’s final mural was meant to be, she suddenly saw a stark resemblance in the sketched lines to the painting she’d just seen.

The crack in her certainty grew wider.

When Lizzie spoke again, she was fighting for composure. “And why _was_ he at Haven?” she exclaimed. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Why was he at Haven? An expert on the Fade, on the mark, on…. On the Breach. Someone who could recognize the orb, instantly.” Her throat bobbed. “Why was he there, of all places?”

“The Conclave,” Jane said. She could hear the doubt in her own voice. A deep sense of unease was settling over her. “He was there for….”

But Solas had not been part of the Circle, nor had he any interest in the Mage Rebellion. He’d not been raised under the Chantry, and struggled to name a Divine before Justinia. He had been an apostate who avoided all human contact, to the point that he claimed never to have seen templar abilities until joining the Inquisition. He preferred to travel alone.

He had no reason to be there.

In fact, he had every reason to stay away.

The shock must have been plain on Jane’s face, because Lizzie’s shoulders fell. She let out her breath and looked down. “See?”

“I…,” Jane began softly. She felt dizzy. “It’s not possible. It _isn’t.”_

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra called, interrupting them. Jane turned. Cassandra looked apologetic. “I am sorry, but if the plan is to stop them, we need to go _now.”_

 _The Viddasala._ Jane shut her eyes, clearing her mind. She took a deep breath and nodded. When she glanced over her shoulder, the ring was back on and Lizzie had disappeared.

She clenched the anchor--the anchor that would have killed her three years ago without Solas’s help. Whatever the truth was, she knew in her heart what she believed. He _had_ been one of them. He'd been with them since their humble beginnings at Haven. He'd brought them to Skyhold, and he'd been by her side when she killed Corypheus.

He had earned the protection of the Inquisition. She owed him that much at least.

“Alright,” she said, turning to Cassandra. “Let’s go.”

 

~~~

 

If she’d harbored any lingering doubts about Lizzie’s suspicions, they were swept away the moment she saw Solas with her own eyes. He was poised in front of a large eluvian, next to a stone statue that had moments before been the Viddasala. When she called his name, he turned and met her gaze across the ruins of a sprawling elven temple. She was alone. The eluvian behind her had gone cold the moment she stepped through, cutting her off from Lizzie and the others.

The anchor could not contain itself. It whipped energy up her entire arm. She’d hoped that once the saarebas died, the pressure would ease, but it only seemed to worsen. Soon, the magic would reach her shoulder, and then her heart. Its flares were violent--one attack had blown her sister into a crumbling wall, cracking her chin open. Lizzie had refused Dorian’s offer of healing, focusing all her magic on Jane. She had not even tried to remain invisible, by the end.

It made no difference. Jane could tell it would be over soon. She sent a silent apology back to Cullen.

 _I tried,_ she told him.

Solas’s eyes flashed silver as he approached. Somehow, the anchor calmed. Jane curled her fingers into a fist. It was not healed, but the buzzing inside her hand was silent, as if he’d frozen the magic in place.

“That should give us more time,” he said. A small smile touched his lips. “I suspect you have questions.”

It took her a moment to speak. Try as she might, she could not reconcile the elf standing before her with the one she’d met at Haven. He was clad in fine armor--armor he did not need, if the qunari statues scattered across the ruins were any indication. It was too ornate for battle, anyway, etched with vines, and faces, and elaborate patterns. She’d worn enough ceremonial armor herself to recognize the difference. His gait had changed as well, morphing into something measured with quiet strength.

Gone was the humble apostate; Solas now carried himself like a man of rank.

“Yes,” she said, finding her voice. “Some. The Qun underestimated you.” She paused before adding, tentatively, “Fen’Harel.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprised and impressed. “Well done.”

She hesitated. “I was not the one who figured it out,” she said, watching him carefully.

He searched her face. The smile faded as he understood, and he looked at the ground. “Ah. So she knows.”

“She knows.”

There was a pause. He lost some of the confidence he’d carried. “My intention,” he said slowly, weighing each word, “was not for it to happen this way. I am sorry.”

She chose not to respond, knowing the apology was not hers to accept. Instead, she took the opportunity to study him. The shadows beneath his eyes were much darker than before. The cadence of his voice was familiar, as was the stiff way he held his shoulders. Physically, he appeared to be the same as he always had been.

But in other ways, he was a stranger.

“How long have you hosted Fen’Harel?” she asked.

“I do not host anyone,” he told her. “This is all I have ever been. I was Solas first. Fen’Harel came later. An insult I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends, and fear in my enemies.” He nodded at her. “Not unlike Inquisitor, I suppose.”

He meant Jane herself, she knew, but her mind went to Ameridan. History certainly had a poor memory when it came to the face behind the title. She focused, bringing herself back to the present.

“I was told you created the Veil. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“But you love the Fade. Why would you lock it all away?”

Solas sighed. He moved toward a ledge that overlooked the temple below. Jane followed. Bit by bit, as they walked over the ruins, he explained his past. He had put up the Veil to stop the false gods and free the ancient elves. Cutting off the Fade had destroyed the world, just as it had broken the Vir’Dirthara. He was not there to stop it. The effort of raising the Veil had left him exhausted, and he slept for millenia. When he woke, he was horrified by what he’d found, and too weak to fix his mistake. Giving Corypheus the orb had been an attempt to unlock its power.

“What would have happened if Corypheus had died and you'd recovered the orb?”

He stared down at the temple. “I would have entered the Fade, using the mark you now bear,” he said. “Then I would have torn down the Veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would have restored the world of my time. The world of the elves.”

“Solas….” Jane shook her head at him. “No. You would never.”

A rueful smile touched his lips, his eyes still on the temple. “Thank you, Inquisitor. But your faith in me is a kindness I’ve never deserved, I’m afraid.” When he glanced up, the smile was gone. “You must understand: I awoke in a world where the Veil had blocked most people’s conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil. At first, it was simple to consider your people immaterial. To believe that the cost of your world would be no great loss.”

“But… that changed,” she said. She was reluctant to mention Lizzie by name.

“Yes,” he said bitterly. His gaze grew more pointed--more intense. Jane had the impression that he was searching her face for something. She wondered, with a prickle of pity, if he was trying to trace a resemblance. He sighed and turned away. “The Inquisition showed me that I was wrong. Again. That there is value in this world. That does not make what comes next any easier.”

She stared at him in shock. “You’re still planning to do it. To take away the Veil.”

“I do not have a choice.”

“No,” she said. _“Solas._ There’s _always_ a choice. There must be some other way.” His face remained firm. “You could find a way,” she pleaded. “The Inquisition could help you.” She reached out to touch his arm, but he moved first, shifting himself back. “You _have_ to try. If you won’t try for the people of this world, then… then what about my sister?”

He seemed hurt by her implication. “It is not that simple.”

“It could be,” she said desperately. “She’s here. She came with me. She’s… she’s on the other side of the eluvian.” He did not seem surprised, though his lips grew tighter the longer she went on. “Can't you just _try--”_

“If there were another way,” Solas interrupted, closing his eyes, “you would not need Elizabeth to convince me, Inquisitor. Believe me. Regardless of circumstance, I do not wish for your people to suffer needlessly. I am not Corypheus. I take no joy in doing this. But the return of my people means the end of yours.”

 _“Why?”_ Jane begged. “Why can’t there be a compromise?”

He opened his eyes to consider her. “A good question. But not one I will answer. You have always shown a thoughtfulness that I respected. It would be easy to tell you too much.” He clasped his hands behind his back, straightening. “You should be more concerned about the Inquisition. Your Inquisition. In stopping the Dragon's Breath you have prevented an invasion by Qunari forces. With luck, they will return their focus to Tevinter. That should give you a few years of relative peace.”

Jane glanced down at her left fist. “I’m not sure I have a few years left,” she said honestly.

“The anchor,” he agreed. “Yes. It would have killed you, eventually. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you. At least for now.”

Jane jerked her head up. To _save_ her? She barely had enough time to register the words before his eyes flashed. The magic unfroze. The mark burst into sparks of light, and she yelped, falling to her knees.

“Here.” He held out his hand. She grasped it without hesitating. The anchor surged with a vengeance, and the pain turned white-hot under his grasp. Jane heard herself sob. The familiar hum of magic in her hand vanished, but the burning sensation kept growing stronger. He let go and stepped back. She collapsed, cradling her arm against her chest.

He was leaving, she realized. He was leaving, and his final gift to her had been her life.

“Solas,” she gasped. It was difficult to speak, but he needed to know that she would not treat him as an enemy. That she would never think her faith in him was a mistake. “You don’t need to destroy this world. I _will_ prove it to you.”

Solas gave her one last apologetic look. “I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, my friend,” he told her. “I am sorry. Farewell, Inquisitor. Live well, while time still remains.”

Her vision tunnelled as the pain grew worse. All she could see was Solas’s receding back as he disappeared through the large eluvian. It went dark. Seconds later, she heard frightened voices calling out her name, her title. She felt herself being lifted. Blue sky appeared above her. Cassandra’s worried face looked down. It was joined by her sister’s, dried blood smeared across her chin.

“It’s true,” Jane choked. “You were _right. Solas--”_ A wave of pain surged up her arm. She grit her teeth.

Lizzie held her by the shoulder. “It’s alright,” she said desperately. “We’ve got you now.” She threw a panicked glance at Dorian. “What’s happening to her arm?”

“I’m not sure,” Dorian replied. “Some sort of entropy spell. Could it be coming from the anchor?”

Lizzie glanced at Jane’s hand. Her eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “No,” she said. “The anchor…. It’s gone.”

 _“What?”_ Cassandra snapped.

Another surge made Jane deaf to anything but her own cries. When it finished, she gasped in a breath.

“Stay with us, Jane,” Lizzie begged.

“That… doesn’t look good,” Varric muttered from somewhere beneath her.

Suddenly Jane caught sight of her arm. It was glowing and… _disintegrating._ Into the air. She felt dizzy. Terror filled her stomach. For a brief moment, she thought she might vomit.

And then there was nothing.

 

~~~

 

She woke in a dark room. Curtains had been drawn across the windows, and thin blades of summer sunlight snuck around the edges. It was uncomfortably hot. Her eyes adjusted as much as they could. One blurry heap at the foot of her bed was probably a pile of blankets. Another was Cullen, slumped over to her right. His blonde head was resting on his arms. Her heart warmed at the sight of him, soothing her frayed nerves. By his steady breathing, he was asleep.

The effort of even that much analysis exhausted her. She closed her eyes. There was a spasm of pain in the anchor. Automatically, she went to clench her fist, but something felt wrong. Glancing down, she froze, shocked by what she saw.

Her arm was gone.

She stared for a long moment. The memory of the anchor disappearing came back, hazy and distant, as if it had been a dream. Her elbow was a stub now, wrapped in neat, white bandages. Bile rose in her throat. Leaning back, she took a deep breath.

 _You’re alive,_ she reminded herself firmly. The anchor had been killing her. Now, it was gone. She would not die--not from the magic in her hand, at least. That was the important thing.

She tried to focus on the parts of her that were still there. The air was still hot. She shifted in the bed. Her foot made contact with something unexpected, and she gasped, startled. The pile of blankets leapt up, growling, equally surprised. Then it saw her. It sat back on its hind legs and barked once.

Cullen jerked awake. He blinked at the blankets--which were actually a dog, Jane now realized--then at her. His surprise faded into relief.

“You’re up,” he said.

“Yes,” she croaked. She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. Cullen noticed. He grabbed a nearby cup of water and brought it to her lips. She took a grateful sip. “Thank you.” Speaking was a struggle. She steadied herself with another deep breath. “How long?”

“A few hours,” he said. “The surgeon said you should take sleeping potions until… until the healers can take a proper look at you.”

Jane took this in. She could tell Cullen was speaking slowly and withholding details for her benefit, but even so, the words were difficult to understand. Working through her thoughts was like marching through mud in the Fallow Mire.

And there was something important, something she had to remember--

_I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, my friend._

“Solas,” she said. “He’s….” She trailed off weakly.

Cullen took her remaining hand. “I know.” Jane looked at him, confused. He sighed, running a thumb over her knuckles. “Elizabeth told the council.”

“Oh,” she said. Her throat tightened again. She remembered how hard it had been for Lizzie to talk to _her_ about it. The thought of her sister having to stand in front of Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen, and tell them, in no uncertain terms, exactly who her ex-lover was broke Jane’s heart. She gulped. “Is she…?”

Cullen hesitated. “She’s… fine.”

He was a terrible liar. Jane turned away, closing her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another. She took a shaky breath.

There was a high whine, and a rough, wet tongue licked her face. Jane’s eyes fluttered open. The dog that she’d nearly forgotten about was trying to comfort her.

“Bingley!” Cullen hissed, sounding affronted. “Down!”

It lay down immediately, placing its head on its paws next to Jane. It looked up at Cullen with large eyes, as if to say _‘Please?’_

“No,” Cullen warned. “You know what I meant.” He pointed at the floor. _“Down.”_

The dog huffed and began to move. Jane reached out to touch it, only to remember she had no left hand. Her elbow bobbed in the air. “Wait,” she pleaded. “Let it stay.”

The dog looked to Cullen with another mute appeal.

Cullen relented. “Very well,” he told it. Satisfied, it began to curl up beside her, as he added, “But don’t get used to it. You have a bed of your own, you know.”

Jane had more questions, and many things to say, but her body felt numb. She lay back against the pillow, too tired to speak. The dog nuzzled her shoulder with a wet nose.

“Here,” Cullen said as he picked up something. He held another vial to her lips and brushed back her hair. “This should help.”

She gulped it down, barely tasting it. The effects were instant. She felt herself drifting, lulled by the strokes of Cullen’s hand on her head and the steady breaths of the mabari beside her. She felt safe.

“You’ll stay, too?” she asked, looking up into Cullen’s eyes.

His expression softened. He shifted to grasp her hand. “Always,” he said roughly.

That was all the assurance she wanted. “Good,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “I need you.”

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, she heard him take a jagged breath. He pressed her fingers to his lip. “And I you,” he whispered.

Even through everything that had happened, she sensed something precious behind his words--faith in the future, a future she was sure she’d lost. Faith in the days to come. Cullen was certain she would live.

The path that loomed before her was terrifying, yes. But in that moment, all she could feel was grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more game dialogue after this! :) 
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	9. the rock to which I cling

The next two days were lost to Jane. Later, she would only remember whispered conversations in the background and the weight of Cullen’s hand in hers. No surgery had been necessary; by the time the others carried her back to Halamshiral, her arm had dissolved, like ice into water. Still, between the exhaustion of the past week and the painful process of losing a limb, she was very weak. The potion she’d taken was a sedative recommended by the surgeon, one that made her sleep and gave her body time to rest and recover.

It worked. She woke early on the second morning, desperately hungry, with no other symptoms. She felt very little pain--only a slight twitch where her palm had once been from time to time. There was not even a scar. It was, the surgeon said, as if her arm had never existed.

Without Cullen, she may have dwelt on that fact a little longer. As it was, he seemed to understand that she needed other things to focus on. He helped her out of bed and ordered breakfast. While they waited, he explained that the Exalted Council was on recess, to allow for her recovery. Her father’s funeral had been postponed for the same reason.

Odette arrived with a tray of food. Cullen helped crack open a hard boiled egg and buttered some of her toast. He added the sugar to her tea. Then he assisted as she dressed and did her hair. Every task was more difficult now. Her frustration must have been clear, because he rubbed her back gently when they’d finished.

“It will get easier,” he told her.

“I know,” she said. She took a deep breath. “I should go see Lizzie.”

His hand stilled. “Ah. She….” He trailed off.

Jane looked at him. “What is it?”

“She might not be awake yet. She’s been….” He hesitated. “She had quite a bit of wine last night.”

Jane’s heart twisted. She bit her lip. “Was she alone?”

“Dorian has been keeping an eye on her.” Jane nodded. That was a relief, at least. Cullen added, “Though I’m not sure Dorian is the type to take wine away from a person.”

“No,” Jane agreed. If anything, he’d probably brought some of his own. His father had died recently as well, and while he’d kept his chin up when he’d told her, she knew he was deeply affected. She sighed. She supposed there were worse ways to deal with everything in the short term, given the circumstances. “I’ll have Odette let me know when she’s up, then.”

“Perhaps we can take a stroll first,” Cullen suggested. “I need to walk Bingley. And it might do you some good to be outside.”

“Alright,” Jane said reluctantly.

 

~~~

 

Cullen was right.

It was a gorgeous day. The heat of the sun chased away the dew and promised a warm afternoon. Ripples of gold and black light danced on the lake. The air was filled with the sound of birds chirping, chattering behind green leaves.

And Jane was alive.

Bingley spotted a fennec fox. He chased it into the bushes, barking. A moment later, he returned, empty-jawed. He looked so personally dejected that Jane couldn’t help but laugh softly. Cullen heard her and looked up, surprised. A half smile formed on his face as he slipped an arm around her shoulder.

By the end of the year, she realized, he would be her husband.

It did not seem real. Joy and guilt twisted inside of her. She felt she had to temper any happiness, that she had no right to know anything like _hope_ in the wake of the past few days. The death of her father. The loss of her arm, and of the Inquisition. The betrayal of a friend and ally. Yet, in her heart, all she felt was relief. She was _alive._ She had a future now--one with Cullen in it.

They found a fallen log closer to the water, and Jane sat down to rest. Cullen helped with that, too--even sitting was made awkward by her new lack of balance. The Winter Palace faced them, rising from the opposite shore. It seemed so impressive from a distance, like the side of a mountain. She could not help but think of how different the world would be if they had not stopped the Viddasala.

If _Solas_ had not stopped the Viddasala.

The memory of a dozen qunari statues sent a chill through her veins, dulling her joy. The path before her clouded. She would live, yes, but a life meant responsibility. A future meant unknowns, and uncertainty, and danger.

She closed her eyes. They had to stop him. Gaining back what she thought she’d lost only made her more determined to never to lose it again.

“Cullen,” she said finally. “We need to talk.”

“About?”

“About Solas.”

Cullen did not look pleased. “It cannot wait? You’ve only just woken.”

Jane tried to clench a hand that wasn’t there--that never would be there again. “No,” she said. “What did Lizzie tell you?”

He sat down beside her with a resigned sigh. “That he is Fen’Harel,” he said. “Or some form of Fen’Harel, anyway. That his magic is much stronger than we realized. That the orb was probably his. And that the Qun thinks he gave it to Corypheus on purpose.” He frowned. “Though I’m not sure anyone but your sister believes that last one.”

“It’s true. He did.”

Cullen looked at her sharply. “To what purpose?”

“He needed power,” she said. “He was planning to tear down the Veil. Not the same way Corypheus did, though.”

“Not the same way…,” Cullen began, incredulous. His frown deepened. “How many ways _are_ there?”

“Cullen,” she said, bringing his focus back to her. “He's going to try again.”

Cullen stared at her. His gaze drifted to the lake. He dragged a hand over his face. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered.

She let him process things before speaking again. “I’m going to call a meeting with Leliana and Josephine. And the others who were with me. We need a plan.”

He glanced at her, concerned. “A plan. Are we…are we not disbanding?”

“We are,” she assured him. “But….” She trailed off. Her voice softened to a whisper. “Someone needs to stop him.”

Cullen was silent. His face grew heavy with emotion. He pulled her to him, hugging her tightly. She used her arm to grip him back and leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

After a few minutes, Jane pulled away. “We should head back.” She tried to push herself into a standing position with one hand, faltering a little on the uneven dirt. Cullen rushed to steady her. “At some point, I’ll have to learn to do this alone, you know,” she told him.

He did not loosen his hold on her. “At some point.”

She felt a surge of affection. “Thank you,” she said. “I know this can’t be easy for you, either.”

“Don’t,” he told her softly.

“But you shouldn’t have to--”

“Jane,” he stopped her. “I am exactly where I want to be.” He kissed the top of her head. “Even when you _can_ do this alone, I’ll still use it as an excuse to hold you, you know.”

That made her smile. “If you say so,” she said, leaning into him more. Together, they made their way back to the _chateau._

 

~~~

 

Lizzie did not wake until noon. By then, Jane had scheduled the meeting about Solas for later that day, sending invitations out to Varric and Dorian. She’d also replied to a note from the Divine, confirming she was awake. She requested a day or two to prepare before the Exalted Council reconvened.

When Odette found her, she was eating lunch with her advisers and Cassandra. Leliana and Josephine had been thrilled to see her so well. They expressed curiosity about Solas, but when she’d exchanged a glance with Cullen and explained she would rather tell the story once, to everyone, they had graciously moved on to the topic of Halamshiral.

According to Josephine, there’d been shifts in court opinion. Jane was being credited with stopping the Qunari threat, despite the Inquisition’s role in causing it in the first place. Between that and the loss of her arm, sympathy for Inquisitor Trevelyan was the highest it had been in months.

“Not that it matters,” Jane murmured. She was still going to lose her title.

Josephine gave her a knowing look. “Reputation _always_ matters, Inquisitor.”

Odette interrupted them then, peeking her head in through the open door. “Inquisitor?” Jane looked up. “Your sister. She is awake.”

Jane thanked her and excused herself. On the walk to her sister’s room, she mentally prepared herself. For Jane, the silver linings of the last two days outweighed the grayness of the clouds. Regardless of Solas’s plans, he _had_ saved her life. She had a reason to be thankful. A reason to hope. That would not be true of Lizzie. And given their relationship--well, she had to assume the betrayal felt much worse.  

Jane hesitated, then knocked. Lizzie opened the door. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, as if she’d done more crying than sleeping, and her hair was pulled back into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. There was a pink scar on her chin where the anchor had injured her--a thin, horizontal line just a quarter inch below her lips.

She reached up and pulled Jane into an embrace. “Jane,” she cried.

Jane clutched her with one arm. “Lizzie. How are you?” she asked.

“How am _I?”_ Lizzie choked, pulling back. “The last time I saw you, I thought you were dying. And now….” She trailed off, searching Jane’s face. “How are _you?”_

“I’m fine,” Jane said. Her sister did not look convinced. “Really,” she insisted. “I am.”

“But your arm!”

“It’s alright,” Jane said. “I’ll adjust.” She gave her sister a sad smile. “The important thing is that I’m alive. The anchor is gone.”

Lizzie nodded, her eyes lingering on Jane’s missing arm. “Yes,” she said, some dark thought passing over her face. She pulled Jane toward a couch against her wall. “Come. Sit.”

Once they were facing each other, Jane took Lizzie’s hand. “Lizzie. Let me just say…. I am so, so sorry.” Lizzie shut her eyes, looking pained. “I can’t imagine how terrible this must be for you. Whatever you need from me, just say the word.”

Lizzie took a moment to recover herself. “Thank you,” she said. “The only thing I ask is…. Don’t treat me differently than the others, when we talk about him. Alright?” Jane hesitated, and Lizzie gave her an imploring look. “Please. I want to help. And besides, as I told Cassandra last night, the pity only makes it worse.”

Jane knew that feeling well enough. “Alright,” she said.

Lizzie relaxed. “Thank you,” she said again. She bit her lip. “What… what happened exactly? After you went through the mirror.” Jane let go of her sister’s hand and rubbed the stub of her elbow, looking down. She could not imagine sharing some of the things Solas had said with her sister. Lizzie pulled away. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

“No, I….” Jane sighed. “The meeting later--I’ll explain everything then. I don’t want to keep walking through it.” It was _a_ truth, if not the one holding her tongue.

Lizzie accepted it anyway, nodding distantly. After a pause, she said, “They’ve postponed Father’s funeral.”

“I heard. Until when?”

“I’m not sure. Kitty said they’re waiting until you’re able to go. So… as soon as the Exalted Council concludes, I assume.”

Jane glanced up. “You’ve heard from Kitty?”

“Yes. She’s in Halamshiral. She arrived last night. After Father….” Lizzie studied her hands. “Apparently, there came a point where Father was no longer aware of his surroundings. After that happened, Kitty left Longbourn. Because Mama kept trying to convince her to stay permanently.”

Jane was not surprised. “Is she here, at the _chateau?”_

“No. She’s staying with Denny, in the camps.” Lizzie paused, playing with the hem of her sleeve. “Jane,” she said, meeting Jane’s gaze. “I know you’ve been focused on other matters--and rightly so--but… have you given any thought to what will happen to the Inquisition mages when you disband?”

“Oh.” Jane glanced down. She had not. “No. I’m sorry. I did speak with Victoria before the whole mess with the qunari started.”

Lizzie’s eyes sharpened. “What did Victoria say?”

“She’ll… need more convincing,” Jane admitted. “But once we tell her about--.” She stopped, awkwardly.

“About Solas,” Lizzie supplied.

Jane hadn’t meant to trip over her words. “Yes. Sorry.” She focused. “Once the Divine knows about Solas, I can’t see her disagreeing that we need our own mages.”

Lizzie frowned, but before she could respond, a knock came at the door. “Come in,” she called out. Odette entered and bobbed her head.

“Inquisitor,” she said. “I apologize for the interruption. We received word from the Exalted Council. They have turned down your request for more time, and will reconvene first thing in the morning.”

Jane grimaced. That did not give her much to work with. She still needed to speak with the others about whether she should mention the new threat at the Exalted Council itself, and Josephine had mentioned that a speech would be expected when they disbanded. She rose from the couch. “Please inform the council and Cassandra that we’ll have to meet as soon as possible, then. Send urgent messages to the Viscount and Magister Pavus as well. I’ll be in the dining room.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Odette said. With another quick nod, she disappeared into the hallway.

Jane gave Lizzie an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to talk more later.”

“I understand,” Lizzie said, going to her dresser. “This meeting is about dealing with Solas, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged on a vest. “Then it takes precedence,” she said firmly. “Let’s go.”

 

~~~

 

The council and Cassandra had not left the dining room. While they all waited for Varric and Dorian, Jane explained that she wanted everyone who knew Solas’s true identity to be present for this final meeting. Before they shared any of the details that she had learned, they needed to discuss how far the news should spread, and how soon.

Varric and Dorian arrived together. Dorian gave Jane a quick hug. “I’m pleased to see you haven’t lost any more limbs since we last saw you,” he joked weakly.  

She let out an amused breath. “That makes two of us,” she replied.

Varric hugged her next. He made no pretense of looking away from her arm when they parted. “Shit, Jane.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “I keep forgetting that it's gone. It doesn’t even hurt.”

Varric seemed doubtful, but he only shook his head in disbelief. “Of course it doesn’t. Andraste's tits. Even your injuries are weird.”

A moment later, everyone was seated and looking at Jane expectantly. “Well,” she said, taking the chair at the head of the table. “I guess we should begin.”

She described her encounter with Solas as well as she could, skipping the two times that Lizzie had come up in conversation. There was no point in mentioning those. It would only cause her sister pain. As it was, she could hardly look Lizzie's way, despite her sister’s request.

After she’d walked them through all the information Solas had given her, there was a long pause.

Leliana spoke first. “You mean to stop him,” she said.

“Of course I do.”

Leliana nodded. “Good. We will need new people. He is far too familiar with the Inquisition, as it stands.”

“That’s a double edged sword, isn’t it?” Dorian pointed out. “He knows us, and we know him.”

“True,” Leliana said. “But he had the advantage. He knew from the start that this day might come. There was time for him to study us as potential rivals. To learn our strengths and weaknesses. Whereas we took him at face value.” She met Jane’s gaze. “We cannot assume _anything_ we know about Solas is true.”

Jane risked a peek at her sister. Lizzie’s arms were crossed and she was staring at the table, her face blank.

“Could we reach out to Sutherland?” Josephine suggested.

“That’s a thought,” Cullen said. “I’ve heard word that his group has expanded since they left the Inquisition.”

“Not to sound paranoid,” Varric said, “but are we sure he didn’t _study_ Sutherland?”

Cullen frowned. “Ah. Good point. I suppose we need to be careful of anyone who was at Skyhold.”

“And elves,” Lizzie added, reluctantly, her eyes still on the table. “He’ll try to appeal to the elves.”

The room went quiet. Jane scanned the faces around her. She realized there were no elves present, and felt uneasy.

After a pause, she cleared her throat. “Approaching him will be difficult. He’s much more powerful than he was before.”

Lizzie shrugged. “Or perhaps he was hiding the true extent of his power.”

“No,” Dorian said before Jane could reply. _“We_ saw a version of him that withstood a year of imprisonment at the hands of the Venatori. Given the circumstances, I highly doubt he was hiding that little statue trick up his sleeve.”

“The real question,” Cullen said, “is whether he has enough power to take down the Veil already.” He looked at Jane. “Do we know how much time we have?”

“Yes. A few years.”

“According to whom?” Lizzie asked.

“According to Solas,” Jane told her. “I believe him.”

Lizzie’s lips tightened and she looked away.

“Then we have some time,” Leliana said. “We should form a research team. A group focused on making him vulnerable.” Her eyes landed across the table. “Elizabeth. You studied the anchor. Perhaps you would be willing to lead.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to help,” Lizzie said. She rubbed the new scar on her chin. “But… Dagna should be in charge.” She seemed to be weighing her words carefully. She cleared her throat. “It’s possible that some of my research is compromised,” she admitted. She turned back to Jane. “I really don’t think we should assume we actually _have_ a few years. The plan should be to kill him as soon as possible.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “Kill him!” she exclaimed. “We’re not going to _kill_ him.”

The others exchanged looks of surprise.

“What precisely are we meant to be doing, then?” Dorian asked.

“We’re going to stop him,” Jane said firmly. “We need to convince him that what he’s doing is wrong.”

Lizzie’s mouth hung open. She leaned forward. _“What?”_ she cried.

“Inquisitor, _”_ Cassandra objected. “Solas is not an errant child that you can scold into obeying you.”

“No,” Jane agreed. “He is a sensible man who already thinks what he’s doing is wrong, on some level. He _can_ be reasoned with.”

“And on the off-chance that he _can’t_ be reasoned with?” Dorian asked. “He was a rather stubborn person when he was trying to _play nice,_ you may recall.”

Jane hesitated. “Then we imprison him. Until he understands. We save him from himself.”

Josephine exhaled, looking at the table. “A prison,” she mused, half to herself. “Well. That will make Dagna’s job considerably harder.”

 _“Why?”_ Lizzie asked. “Why are we even taking the risk?”

Jane shook her head. “I can’t kill him, Lizzie.”

“You don’t have to do it yourself.”

“I….” Jane trailed off. In her mind’s eye, she saw Solas in front of the eluvian, reluctance and grief writ plain across his face. She tensed, searching for the words. “You didn’t see him, Lizzie. He’s halfway there already. And Solas is a friend.”

“He is trying to _destroy the world,”_ Lizzie said slowly, emphasizing each word. “He would sacrifice the lives of everyone you know, just to rebuild some ancient, lost empire.” She threw out a hand. “You had no qualms killing Corypheus.”

“That isn’t true,” Jane insisted. “I had qualms. I always have qualms. But there was nothing left to save. Corypheus never regretted his actions. Solas…. If you saw him--. If you _heard_ him--.” She broke off, looking down. “He thinks there isn’t a choice. And there is. He needs to know that there is.”

“You’re willing to bet the _world_ on him changing his mind,” Lizzie said.

“He could have killed me,” Jane pointed out. “That would have been easier. But he didn’t. He’s still… he’s still _Solas.”_ Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut, her hands balling into fists, and Jane felt a pang of remorse, wishing she could make her sister see without causing her pain. “I have to give him a chance, Lizzie. The same chance I gave Samson, at least.”

Lizzie let out a sour laugh. “You really think _he_ would agree to that?” she asked. “Hanging around the Inquisition under lock and key? Letting Dagna perform experiments on him?” She waved a hand at Jane and her advisers. “Confessing his _sins_ before a panel of people he barely acknowledges are real?”

“I don’t know,” Jane said honestly. “It would be a hard adjustment. But maybe if _you_ were there….”

Lizzie’s eyes went cold. _“No,”_ she said. “No. I will _not_ be used as bait.”

Jane realized her misstep. She shook her head. “Lizzie, that’s not what I--”

“I know what you meant,” Lizzie said, furious. The others sat frozen, watching the two sisters in silence. “You meant that Solas should think that if he apologized--if he _surrendered--_ that I would be there _waiting,_ as if none of this had happened. As if--.” She broke off and looked down at the table with her lips pressed together. Then she stood, pushing her chair back. “Fine. _You’re_ the Inquisitor. Do whatever you’d like. Save him. Kill him. See if I care. But I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind. I won’t help you.”

“Lizzie….”

She cut Jane off with a gesture. “No. Jane. Leave me out of it.”

She headed toward the hallway. On the way, she passed a rolling tray of evening drinks and plucked a bottle of liquor by the neck without even checking to see what it was. At the door, she turned, throwing one last look back.

“A word of advice--the man you call your _friend_ never existed,” she said. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that he did. I know I won’t.”

With that, she left, slamming the door behind her. A cry of surprise and a quick apology could be heard from Odette. The others turned to Jane.

Jane’s mouth felt dry. She licked her lips and looked at the table. “Dorian. Would you…?” She trailed off.

“Gladly,” Dorian replied, getting to his feet. He hurried after Lizzie, closing the door much less dramatically behind him.

“Well,” Varric said grimly. “I sure hope you weren’t counting on _her_ help.”

Jane rubbed her forehead. “We’ll be fine,” she said. “We have other resources, and….” She sighed. After a moment, she looked up. “Leliana. Who else can we spare for Dagna’s research team?”

Leliana began to suggest a handful of names. Jane half-listened, distracted. If she were honest with herself, she couldn’t help but wonder if their chances of persuading Solas had just dropped immeasurably.

 

~~~

 

Jane did not see Lizzie again that day. After their meeting finished, she worked with Josephine on her speech to the Exalted Council. By the time they were finished, it was night, and Jane was exhausted. She suspected that even if she went to find Lizzie, her sister would be in no state to receive apologies or discuss the state of the Inquisition mages.

Cullen slept in her room again. The following morning, they rose early and prepared. A servant had folded and pinned the left sleeve of Jane’s uniform to compensate for her missing arm. She felt off-balance, but Josephine assured her on the ride to the palace that she still looked as distinguished as ever.

A templar approached them the moment they arrived. “Your Worship,” he said with a quick bow, catching them at their carriage. “The Divine requests a word before we begin.” His eyes ran over the people behind her. “In private.”

Jane exchanged a quick glance with her advisers. Josephine gave an imperceptible nod. “Very well,” she said to the templar.

She was brought upstairs to a small, ornate room in which everything was white and gold. Tea was set out on the table--even the porcelain cups glittered. Victoria stood by a window, framed by sunlight. She turned.

“Darling,” she said, sounding relieved. She embraced Jane. As she let go, she gave Jane a once over. Her eyes grew sad with sympathy. “Andraste preserve me. It’s true. Your arm.”

“Yes,” Jane said.

“How awful. I heard about everything.” Jane gave her a curious look, then remembered that Odette had been keeping the Divine informed while she’d been out fighting qunari. Victoria brushed Jane’s shoulder, neatening her uniform. “You look much better than I expected, I must say. You’re getting enough sleep, I hope?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Jane said. “You…you wished to speak with me?”

“Yes,” Victoria said. She glanced over Jane’s shoulder at the templar who’d summoned her. “Leave us. And close the door behind you.”

The templar bowed and obeyed. Victoria waited another moment, listening to his armored footsteps recede, then turned to face Jane.

“I’ve been told that you are planning to disband the Inquisition. Is that correct?” Jane nodded. Victoria poured a cup of tea and held it out to Jane. Jane took it awkwardly, realizing she was unable to add sugar or cream with only one hand. Victoria did not notice. She began pouring another cup for herself as Jane sat on the couch and placed her own cup on the table. “A week ago, I would have congratulated you on your retirement. Corypheus has been dead for two years. The Circles have returned, peacefully. There was no _real_ need for a military organization of your size, not without some sort of clear threat.” She sighed. “But now…. Now, there is a threat.”

Jane had been adding cream to her tea, but she froze, glancing up. “You know about Solas,” she realized, surprised. She tried to remember if she or any of the council had mentioned him around Odette. They must have, without realizing it.  

“Indeed,” Victoria said. “Or, Fen’Harel, as it were. And I hear that despite his plans, you wish to keep him alive.” Jane’s eyebrows must have been climbing into her hair. Victoria looked faintly amused. “Yes, news travels fast in Orlais, doesn’t it?” She tilted her head, sitting beside Jane. “How are you planning to achieve your goal, without the Inquisition?”

Jane paused. “The council and I discussed that yesterday. We’ll continue to function as a smaller organization, without a title, on a volunteer basis. We need to leave Skyhold either way, so we will work out of Longbourn Village. It’s no fortress, but there’s plenty of room to build.”

“I see,” Victoria said. She leaned back, considering Jane’s answer. “You realize, of course, that you will not be the only group that wishes to interrupt Solas’s plans. I am not sure Orlais or Ferelden will believe your claims of what happened, but I assure you: the Chantry does. And while I sympathize with your desire to save an old friend, there is a much simpler solution to this particular problem.”

Jane looked down. “Killing him,” she said flatly.

“Yes,” Victoria said. “Which is exactly what the Chantry plans to do.”

Jane should have expected that. She sighed.

“Unless…,” Victoria continued. She let the thought hang in the air.

“Unless?” Jane prompted.

Victoria smiled faintly. “Were the Inquisition to _join_ us, we could combine our resources. If that were to happen, I would delegate the handling of the matter to you.”

“Join you?” Jane asked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the Inquisition could become part of the Chantry,” Victoria explained. “Just as the Inquisition of old did. Our goals are not so different, after all.” She took a sip of her tea, studying Jane’s face. “It would be for the optics, of course,” she said as she placed her cup on the saucer in her hand. “I would let you remain autonomous, by and large. But then I could protect you from the Bann Teagans of the world--those who would see your power stripped away.” She smiled. “No one would question your authority if you were working on behalf of the Divine.”

Jane’s eyes fell to her tea. More resources _would_ be helpful. But after everything she’d learned over the past week, could she even trust her own organization to do what was right? Besides which, Lizzie would not enjoy being closer to Divine Victoria.

Victoria spoke again, as if she could read Jane’s mind. “There are other advantages you should consider. For example, I know that you were concerned about the Inquisition mages. This would let you keep them.”

That gave Jane pause. “It would?”

“Yes,” Victoria said. “They’d need to be _associated_ with a circle--the Chantry can’t simply allow apostates to wander around with no supervision--but they could all remain at Skyhold.” She caught herself. “Or Longbourn. Wherever the Inquisition finds itself.”

“If we disbanded, couldn’t they stay on as volunteers?”

Victoria gave her a kind smile, placing her cup and saucer on the table. “I’m afraid with no official status, that would be ill-advised.” Jane frowned, and Victoria placed a hand on her arm. “I do not say that sway you one way or the other, darling. The Circle is hardly the prison it’s painted to be. There _are_ opportunities, for a young mage.” Jane bit her lip. That had not been the way Lizzie portrayed it. Victoria sighed. “Let me speak plainly, Inquisitor. It is true that I would very much like you to work for me. But you should understand that it would not be the end of the world if Elizabeth returned to a circle. I’ve checked her records. At Ostwick, she was an exemplary enchanter with only one mark against her--some minor incident from her childhood. She was well-liked by her cohorts, and spent nearly eight years training apprentices and working with alchemists. After another eight years, she could become a senior enchanter. Or a member of the Chantry. A member of the court, even. In this building alone, there are twelve Circle mages who are allowed to do as they please with no templar intervention. I assure you. Your sister would do well in a Circle, as long as she wanted to.” She drew her hand back after a comforting squeeze. “However, I do think she’d be happier smithing for the Inquisition. Don’t you?”

Jane stared at the glittering teacup in her hand. Her mind raced. It was not the future she and Lizzie had talked about, but it bought them more time. It let her keep her sister close. That had to make it the best choice.

Then why was her stomach churning? She weighed the options Victoria had laid out before her, looking for a way to tip the scales. She thought of Lizzie.

She thought of Solas.

She raised her head. “If we join you, I would be in charge of the Inquisition mages. All matters regarding their status would need to go through me, first.”

The Divine agreed with a nod. “Once they are associated with a circle. Of course.”

“And do you promise that we will do everything we can to stop Solas _without_ killing him?” Jane asked firmly. “Unless it becomes absolutely necessary?”

A hint of a smile touched Victoria’s lips, as if she could taste her namesake. “Of course, Inquisitor. You have my word.”

“Alright,” Jane said, breathing deeply. She ignored the anxiety gnawing in the pit of her stomach. “Then I accept.”

Victoria’s smiled bloomed. “Excellent. I knew you would see reason. Welcome to the Chantry, Inquisitor.”

 

~~~

 

Jane and her advisers had barely been back at the _chateau_ for five minutes when the door to the dining room flew open. All four of them looked up. Lizzie entered, glaring daggers at Jane.

 _“Tell me_ you didn’t do this,” Lizzie said.

Jane winced. She’d only announced her decision to the Exalted Council half an hour ago. News _did_ travel fast in Orlais.

“Elizabeth--,” Cullen began.

Jane stood, pushing back her chair. “It’s alright,” she told him. “My sister and I need to talk.” She glanced at the council. “Could you give us some privacy, please?”

Josephine and Leliana made moves to leave immediately, gathering up their papers and walking toward the door. Cullen waited a second longer. He looked between the two sisters.

“Cullen, it’s fine,” she assured him. “Go.”

With one last wary frown, he left. Lizzie’s eyes were hard with anger. Jane went to cross her arms before she remembered she only had one, then settled for placing her hand behind her back.

“So it’s true,” Lizzie said. “You’ve given us to Vivienne.”

“The Inquisition is joining the Chantry,” Jane said, rephrasing. She looked at her sister sincerely. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

Lizzie stared at her. “Are you _insane_ ? She is a _tyrant_. Even Cassandra thinks so!”

“We no longer have the support to remain operational without someone backing it. Victoria offered, and--”

“You were going to disband!” Lizzie exclaimed, interrupting her. “Wasn’t that the original plan?”

“Yes. But that was before we knew what we were facing. No one else is better poised to deal with Solas. A combination of the Chantry’s resources and the Inquisition’s knowledge--”

Lizzie scoffed. _“‘Deal with Solas’._ You’re not even planning to deal with him. What, you need Leliana better supplied so you can invite the Dread Wolf to a fucking _soiree_ and tell him how wrong he is over canapes?”

“Lizzie,” Jane pleaded.

“Don’t _Lizzie_ me!” she yelled. Jane flinched. “Don’t you understand what you’ve done? You’ve handed your organization to a power-hungry autocrat just so you can try to save a man who wants to tear open the sky! For the second time! You should know _better_ than this! You should….” Lizzie ran a hand over her hair, closing her eyes. The fight went out of her. “Maker,” she muttered. _“I_ should know better than this.” She exhaled. “I can’t even be _angry_ with you. You trust her, and that’s never going to change, is it?”

Jane swallowed. “I trust that she wants the same thing I do. A stable South.”

“At any cost,” Lizzie said bitterly.

“No,” Jane told her. _“Not_ at any cost. She’s not putting you in a circle.” Her voice turned pleading. “I swear, Lizzie. That was part of the deal.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever,” Jane insisted. “I’m in charge of the Inquisition mages. She agreed to those terms.”

Lizzie shot her a look. “She agreed because she’s in charge of _you. You_ are no longer a free agent. She can change the rules at any time.” She shook her head and let out a breath. “What exactly did she say about the mages?” she asked finally.

“That you’re free to stay wherever the Inquisition finds itself,” Jane said. She thought back. “That… that you’d need to be _associated_ with a circle, but that once you were, you could be with the Inquisition.”

Lizzie huffed, growing angry again. “Oh, of course. _‘Associated with a circle.’_ She’ll want phylacteries for all of us, then. And my students will be Harrowed. Those who fail will be killed. Wonderful.”

Jane’s lips parted. A sense of guilt rose in her stomach. That could not be what Victoria had meant.

“And she’ll replace the Inquisition templars with _her_ templars,” Lizzie went on. “Denny and his men will be in circles, under _her_ Knight-Commanders. If anyone does anything she doesn’t like, their Inquisition privileges will be revoked.” Her face twisted as she stared at the floor. “Maker’s breath, Jane. This is the worst thing you could have done.”

“I just wanted to protect you,” Jane said.

“Protect me?” Lizzie asked darkly, glaring. “Undo it, then. Go tell Vivienne that you’re giving up your Inquisition, and that you’ll find your _resources_ elsewhere.”

Jane opened her mouth to speak. But the consequences of going back were too much. She’d no longer have the Inquisition. It would be that much harder to save Solas. And she’d risk losing her sister to the Circle, forever. If she went against Victoria now, she’d lose power, and endanger the very people she was trying to save.

“I can’t,” she admitted weakly.

“See?” Lizzie said.

“Because I _am_ trying to protect you,” Jane insisted.

“No. You’re trying to protect yourself,” Lizzie said. “You want to protect the Inquisition. You want to protect the South. You want to protect the people you love. But you _don’t_ want to protect the mages. And you still haven’t seemed to notice the fact that _I am a mage._ My people deserve a chance, even when they _aren’t_ related to the Inquisitor.” Lizzie pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s the worst part of it, you know. Thom Rainier slaughtered children, and he deserved a chance. Vivienne was willing to sell you out to Ferelden and Orlais, but now she deserves a chance. A dragon tried to kill you, and _it_ deserved a chance. Even Solas. Even fucking _Solas.”_ Lizzie’s face softened, her eyes sad and hard and resigned all at once. “But your sister? You own sister? When it comes to _protecting_ me, I don’t deserve a chance. I just deserve to be coddled, like a child. It’s like I’m so close to you that you take what _I_ need for granted. You assume _you_ know best.”

“Lizzie…,” Jane whispered. She stepped forward.

“It’s true.” Lizzie gestured toward the hallway. “And look. You’ve even started doing the same thing to Cullen.”

“What?” Jane asked, thrown off guard.

“Who benefited from him not knowing about the anchor, when it got worse? Didn’t he deserve a chance to respond? To know you were in pain? But instead, you _protected_ him. Because it benefited you.”

Jane froze. The air went out of her, like she’d been punched in the gut. She stared at Lizzie, horrified.

Lizzie’s expression shifted. She recognized the blow she’d landed, at least. She looked away, suddenly seeming exhausted. “I….” She swallowed, conflicted. “I need some time. I need some time alone. I just need….” She sighed. “I’ll be in my room. Please, make sure no one disturbs me.”

She spun on her heel and left the room. Cullen was waiting outside. He watched Lizzie as she stalked away, then entered, worried.

“Jane?” he asked, entering the room. “Are you alright? I heard shouting.”

She was silent, frozen in place. He stepped forward to gather her into his arms. She wanted to be held, desperately _needed_ to be held, but the guilt in her stomach rose higher every second she spent in his arms.

She began to weep. She wished she could wrap both arms around him, but she could only nudge his side with the stub of her elbow. She realized she’d never be able to hold him like that again.

“It’s fine,” Cullen told her, rocking her gently. “It’s going to be fine.”

Jane sobbed into his shoulder and tried to believe him.

 

~~~

 

Lizzie remained in her room for the next four days. Only Odette was allowed in and out, for food and clothing. Despite growing concerns from some of her colleagues, Jane did not let anyone else check on her. Victoria suggested more than once that leaving a depressed mage alone for so long was inadvisable.

“At least send in a templar, darling,” she said one night over dinner. “Or Cassandra, if you’d prefer a familiar face.”

“Elizabeth passed her Harrowing,” Cullen told her firmly. “She is no threat.” Jane was grateful he knew the intricacies of Circle life, and could defend her sister better than she herself could.

Victoria cocked an eyebrow at him. _“All_ mages are a threat, Commander. That is a truth we cannot allow ourselves to forget.” She turned back to Jane. “I am not implying anything negative about your sister, my dear. I would worry about _any_ mage who’d been through what she has these past few days. If you’d like, Knight-Vigilant Caitlin could come around and check.”

Jane winced. Victoria could not have chosen a worse templar to suggest than the one who’d seen Lizzie perform blood magic at Adamant. She shook her head. “No templars. I trust my sister.”

And she did. She wanted to give Lizzie all the space in the world. A part of her knew they were both just delaying the inevitable. Lizzie would shut her out again, and Jane would try to balance loving her and avoiding her, while acting as her reluctant keeper, just as her sister had accused.

In the meantime, the Chantry and the Inquisition worked out how their joint structure would work. Jane ended up giving Longbourn to Victoria and the Chantry. Cullen was upset to lose the land, as it meant he and Jane would only have the estate in Kirkwall to themselves. He eventually agreed that it made the most sense as a location for their forces, however. Ferelden would not be thrilled, but as Victoria had pointed out, no one could question an organization that worked for the Divine.

On the fourth evening, Jane was heading toward her bedroom with Cullen after a long day of negotiations, when Odette passed with an empty tray from Lizzie's room. To her surprise, the plates appeared to have the remnants of a leg of duck in a cream sauce and buttered potatoes.

Jane stopped Odette.“Was that my sister's dinner?” she asked.

“Yes,” Odette confirmed.

Jane glanced at the door and then back at Odette. “She ate all of that?”

“Oh, yes,” Odette said. “She had two servings.”

That did not make sense. Jane stared at Lizzie’s door, worriedly. “That’s… not like her,” she said.

Cullen placed a hand on her back. “It’s not unusual for tastes to change in times of distress.”

“It isn't her tastes, it's….” Jane shook her head, trying to dislodge a thought. Lizzie had always had trouble eating when upset. Rich foods--like duck in a cream sauce--were even worse for her. “No. Something’s strange,” she said. She walked over to her sister’s door. She rapped on it sharply. “Lizzie?”

There was a pause. “Go away, Jane,” came the muffled reply.

The unease in Jane’s stomach grew. The voice sounded like her sister’s, and yet it did not. A tiny, nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her what Victoria said, but she shut down that train of thought quickly. Lizzie couldn't…. Lizzie  _wouldn't…._

“You can stay in your room,” she said through the door. “I’d just like to… to see you for a second. To make sure you’re alright.”

There was a longer pause this time. “I said, go away.”

Jane looked back at Cullen, who was beginning to look concerned. Odette watched on, confused. Jane swallowed and looked back at the door.

“If you won’t see me, can Cullen come in?” she asked.

“No.”

“Elizabeth,” Cullen tried, stepping next to Jane. “Please let us in. We’re worried.”

“…I don’t want to.”

Jane’s heart began beating faster as Cullen’s expression changed to one of disbelief. Lizzie would never refuse so basic a request, not even when she was angry. And after four days alone…. 

“Elizabeth,” Cullen said, this time more loudly. He banged on the door, hard. “If you don’t open this door, I…. _We_ will break it down.”

Odette gasped at his words, her hand covering her mouth. There was a rustle of movement from the other side of the door, and the sound of a lock being turned. Cullen relaxed a fraction, his eyes narrowing. They both watched the door tensely.  

It opened to reveal Jane’s very reluctant sister.

The _wrong_ very reluctant sister.  

 _“Kitty?”_ Jane asked, stunned. She glanced into the room. “Where’s Lizzie?”

Kitty gave Jane an apologetic look. “She left.”

“What do you mean _‘she left’?”_ Jane asked, her eyes growing wider.

Kitty sighed, her small brown eyes darting to the floor. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m sorry, Jane. Lizzie’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, she _did_ warn you, Jane.
> 
> Did anyone catch the Pride & Prejudice easter egg? It's more of a little inside joke than anything else. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks again to Aethusa!


	10. scars beyond counting

Once again, Jane found herself in the _chateau_ dining room, surrounded by her advisers. Night had fallen; a pair of candles sat at each end of the table, illuminating the room in soft light. Leliana was whispering something to Charter, who hovered near the door, ready to leave the moment she had her orders. Cullen stood to the side with his arms crossed. Cassandra inspected an open atlas as if she could interrogate it into answering her. Josephine paced back and forth on the carpet, chewing on the nail of her thumb.

Jane sat at the head of the table, her hand laying flat on the wooden surface. She felt gutted. She tried to grasp the panic that her advisers clearly felt somewhere inside of her, but all she found was remorse.

Lizzie was gone. Lizzie had left, because of something she had done. There was a chance she would never see her sister again, and she only had herself to blame.

 _It was necessary,_ Jane told herself. _I had no choice._

 _There’s always a choice,_ her own voice echoed back to her--the same words she’d told Solas in the elven temple.

That brought even more guilt. She _did_ have other choices. But Victoria was one she had to make--one she had to keep making--until Solas was persuaded or captured. She had to prioritize saving this world above her sister.

It sounded sickeningly familiar.

She wondered if she might vomit.

Charter ducked out of the room. Leliana turned back to the others. “The empress has a list of everyone who attended and when they left. Charter will find a copy.”

Josephine paused in her pacing. “Will that really help?” she asked.

“It’s a start,” Leliana said.

“She cannot have gotten far,” Cassandra said, her eyes still scanning the atlas. “Four days is hardly enough time to get to Val Royeaux from here.”

“Unless….” Josephine tilted her head. “You don’t think she would use the eluvian, do you?”

“No,” Cassandra said without looking up.

“No,” Jane agreed softly. “I don’t think any of us came away from the Crossroads believing eluvians are a sound form of transportation.”

Leliana sat down in the chair to Jane’s left and tented her hands on the table. She looked at Jane. “So. What do we know?”

“Not much,” Jane admitted. “Kitty barely told me anything.”

“We do have a fairly good idea of when they switched places,” Cullen said. “According to Odette, there was a letter addressed to Catherine Trevelyan on Jane’s vanity the day after the Exalted Council ended. She delivered it to the templar camp, believing it to be from Jane herself. Kitty visited that afternoon, and Odette never saw her leave. She assumed Kitty went home while she was tending to something else in the kitchens.” He shrugged. “There was no reason to think otherwise.”

“Odette did not notice the change?” Cassandra asked.

“Kitty stayed in bed and kept the curtains drawn,” Jane explained. “Lizzie was so upset last week that Odette just thought she was depressed.”

“Well, _someone_ must have seen Elizabeth,” Josephine said. “This is Orlais. I can’t imagine that she could simply… _wander off_ without being noticed.”

“I can,” Jane said darkly, glancing at Cassandra.

Cassandra took a moment to follow. Her eyes fell shut in defeat as she understood. She closed the atlas in front of her, hanging her head. “Call off Charter, Leliana. The list is useless.”

Leliana cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

Cassandra sighed. “Because Elizabeth has an enchanted ring. One that allows her to remain invisible to others.”

Even Leliana looked caught off guard at that. Cullen glanced between Cassandra and Jane. “You’re joking,” he said.

“It was Dorian’s,” Jane told him. “We used it to keep her hidden in the Crossroads.”

Cullen huffed in disbelief. He slid into the chair on Jane’s right, running a hand through his hair. _“Maker.”_

“The list could still give us some leads,” Leliana decided.

“Even if it does,” Josephine said, waving a hand, “how in Andraste’s name are we supposed to find someone who can become invisible at will?”

Jane bit her lip. She voiced the nagging thought that had been in her head since she’d first realized her sister had run away. “Maybe we shouldn’t look for her.”

Cassandra’s eyes snapped open. “What do you mean?”

Jane swallowed. “Maybe… maybe we should let her go.”

“No,” Cullen said.

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra agreed.

“Why?” Jane asked, fighting to keep her voice level. Her throat felt tight. “She doesn’t want to be here. She left of her own volition.”

Cullen leaned forward. “Which means she is either suicidal, or she has _vastly_ underestimated how difficult the life of an apostate is. Elizabeth was not raised to live in the wild, and every day she spends in a city will be a risk. She has no money. She has no resources. She has some training, yes, but not nearly enough to survive on her own. We need to bring her back. Preferably before anyone else realizes that she is missing.” Jane hesitated, and Cullen placed his hand over hers, his eyes locked on her face. “Jane. I realize what you are trying to do, but allowing Elizabeth to become an apostate, particularly _now,_ would be no mercy.”

“Cullen is correct,” Leliana said. “Even if Elizabeth were capable of surviving on her own, she is related to you. Word will get out that the Inquisitor’s mage sister has gone missing. Other parties may try to recover her first. The Venatori. The Qun.” She looked Jane squarely in the eye. “The templars.”

“The templars?” Jane asked, surprised. She frowned. “Lizzie isn’t a Circle mage.”

“I am not sure the Divine agrees,” Cassandra said. “Should she learn of Elizabeth’s disappearance, she may take it as a personal offense.”

“To be fair,” Leliana added dryly, “it appears to be meant as one.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned. “My point is that Most Holy would not be lenient.”

Josephine gave Jane an apologetic look. “I must agree. Victoria has only just secured the Inquisition. She will be anxious to draw a line where your authority ends and hers begins.”

Jane stared at them all. “But _I’m_ in charge of the Inquisition mages. That was part of the agreement. I should be able to lead the investigation. Or decline to investigate at all, if I so wish.”

Cullen squeezed her hand. “Jane,” he said gently. “At this moment, Elizabeth is not an Inquisition mage. She is an apostate.”

The panic that she’d tried to summon earlier flared to life in her chest, burning. Her eyes fell back to the table. “Andraste preserve me,” she whispered. Was there a way she _hadn’t_ failed her sister? She held her breath, then relented. “Alright,” she said. “Alright. We have to find her. But how?”

There was silence. Cassandra’s expression sharpened as something seemed to occur to her. “Cullen. Does Elizabeth have a phylactery?”

“Oh,” he realized with a spark in his eyes. “Yes, of course. Ostwick keeps theirs on site.”

Cassandra looked relieved. “Then we are fine,” she assured Jane. She turned to Leliana. “How quickly do you think you can retrieve it?”

“I’ll contact someone tonight,” Leliana said. “There must be a few people in Ostwick Circle who owe us favors. My contacts will reach out.” Despite the tension in the room, she looked vaguely amused as she studied Cullen and Cassandra. “As long as everyone present is fine with stealing a phylactery to aid an apostate, of course. Cullen?”

Cullen crossed his arms. “You needn’t ask where my loyalties lie, Leliana.”

Leliana acknowledged that with a nod. “Cassandra?” she asked.

Cassandra pursed her lips. “The Seekers have always made exceptions for unique circumstances. This is no different. We _are_ bringing an apostate to safety.”

“Exactly,” Josephine said. “Besides, Elizabeth’s phylactery is Chantry property. We are part of the Chantry now. Technically speaking, this is not so much _stealing_ as it is….” She hesitated. “A minor breach in protocol,” she settled on.

Cassandra looked at Leliana and held out a hand, as if to say _‘see?’_

Leliana stood. “Very well. I will send out instructions immediately. In the meantime, I suggest you get some rest, Inquisitor. It is late, and you are still recovering.”

Jane reluctantly agreed. There was nothing more she could do tonight, and she did feel exhausted. As they left the dining room, Cassandra caught a glimpse of her grim face and softened. “Do not fret. The situation is dire. But it is not hopeless.”

Jane rubbed her temple with her hand, trying to stave off a headache that was forming. “I just want her safe,” she said as they passed the library.

Cullen stopped walking, placing a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Jane. We will find your sister. Once we have the phylactery, it won't take long.”

Cassandra nodded. “The important thing is that we resolve this matter before the Divine finds out.”

A new voice joined them. “Before the Divine finds out what exactly, darling?”

Jane froze, as did her advisers. She glanced over her shoulder to see Victoria, standing in the doorway to the library, dressed in fresh robes. Odette was behind her, looking concerned.

Victoria tilted her head. “Not _‘before the Divine finds out that the Inquisitor's sister has fled the city’,_ I hope. Because _that_ happens to be something I already know.” She raised an eyebrow, scanning over the five of them with a critical eye. “It also seems like the sort of information the Chantry’s new honorguard should share with their superiors, don’t you think?”

“Victoria,” Jane said, recovering herself.

“Inquisitor,” Victoria greeted with a thin smile. She stepped forward, joining them in the hall, and looked at Cullen. “Don’t bother with the phylactery, Commander. She does not have one.” She searched Jane’s face carefully. “It’s very strange. The rest of Ostwick’s phylacteries are sitting there, untouched. But _hers_ is missing.”

“How would you--,” Cassandra began. Understanding flashed on her face. “You checked. When?”

“Quite a while ago. I thought Elizabeth’s intentions were rather obvious from the beginning.” Jane opened her mouth, but Victoria held up her hand. “I know,” she told her, not unkindly. “You’ll be sending your own people after her. I won’t pretend that I could convince you otherwise. Against my better judgment, I will not treat it as insubordination--because I consider you a friend. But,” she paused, her expression tightening, “I cannot let someone flout Chantry law so flagrantly. Especially a mage with connections. Not in this current political climate.” She clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Knight-Vigilante Caitlin has been informed of the situation. She has assured me it will be handled.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “You’re sending the Right Hand after her?”

“Of course,” Victoria said.

Jane tried to school her expression. Ser Caitlin had never been convinced by Varric’s cover at Adamant; Jane had noticed that she still watched Lizzie warily whenever they were in the same room. If the templars who found Lizzie knew she’d once practiced blood magic, they would treat her as a maleficar.

“Most Holy,” Cassandra interjected, sensing the worry Jane’s silence. “Justinia often trusted the Seekers of Truth to assist, when dealing with apostates. Perhaps we can--”

Victoria cut her off with a cold look. “No. The new Seekers are a fledgling organization without the proper experience or influence. Had they joined the Chantry, I would perhaps be more willing to test their abilities on such an important task. However, their leader,” her eyes flicked over Cassandra, “declined my invitation.” A flush crept up Cassandra’s neck as she stared at the Divine, outraged. Victoria turned back to Jane, softening. “Your advisers are right. Sooner or later, Elizabeth will be found. Should you find her first, I hope you are able to convince her to submit herself to a Circle. I can promise she will be treated fairly, if she does.” She tilted her head. “If she does not, however, my hands will be tied. There will have to be consequences. I hope you understand.”

Jane’s blood ran cold. “Consequences?”

Victoria’s eyes turned sympathetic. “She will not be treated more harshly than any other apostate,” she promised. “But… yes. Consequences.”

“Your Perfection,” Josephine interjected, as a hard lump formed in Jane’s throat. “Surely, given the… _news_ of the past week, we can treat this as the unfortunate misstep of a distressed but otherwise loyal Inquisition mage. If and when she’s found, I believe we should give her a chance to return to her duties.”

Victoria frowned. “You know as well as I do how clemency would look,” she said. “And I’m not even certain that Elizabeth would agree to those terms. But….” She tilted her head, glancing at Jane. “If she _is_ persuaded, I will consider it.”

“Thank you,” Josephine said.

“I’m afraid I must get back to the palace,” Victoria said with the air of finality. “I was in the middle of something when I heard the news. _”_ She focused on Jane. “Maker watch over you, Inquisitor. I will pray for your sister’s safe return.”

She turned and left. Once the front door closed, Odette stepped out of the library. “Your--I--Inquisitor, I am so sorry,” she said. “I never thought-- I didn’t realize--”

“It’s fine, Odette,” Jane replied distantly. She could not blame Odette for doing what she was told. Like everything else, this was Jane’s fault. She looked to her advisers. “What should we do?”

Leliana’s eyes hardened. “The only thing we can do,” she said. “We find your sister before Victoria does.”

 

~~~

 

It was easier said than done. One month passed. Lizzie did not materialize. The Inquisition lingered in Halamshiral, settling their affairs with the Chantry. As they combined their forces, Jane and the Divine avoided the awkward topic of her sister, though Jane knew Victoria must have been suffering from the same lack of news that she was. Jane swung between confidence that they would find Lizzie, and dreaded certainty that she’d be tracked down by Ser Caitlin, or worse.

As summer bled into fall, Jane adjusted to her new realities. She had no left arm. She had no Skyhold. She had no Lizzie, no Father. Her days were spent navigating the gaping holes that had appeared in her life. That was not even counting the fact that the man she considered a friend was powerful, and ancient, and had a hand in the disaster at the Conclave. Her world had changed, and she did not know how to adjust.

She had support. She was thankful for the friends and colleagues by her side. But she deeply wished that she had someone to talk to about the guilt she felt over her sister leaving. Varric and Dorian, Lizzie’s closest friends in the Inquisition, had returned to their homes, saddled with their own responsibilities. While Cullen and Cassandra were sympathetic, their true concern lay with Jane herself, which meant Jane could never be convinced by their assurances. Conversations with Josephine and Leliana always seemed to turn toward strategy and appearance.

Her family was no better. Already, Lady Trevelyan's letters turned Lizzie into some sort of martyr who’d never existed--a cherished, obedient daughter, lost to the cruel wilds of Thedas--and Jane had no interest in adding fuel to the fire. Lydia’s attention span was brief, when she bothered to write. Kitty obviously missed Lizzie, but she still shied away from discussing what had happened. And while Jane diligently sent a note to Mary, word from Weisshaupt had dwindled down to nothing. Even Alistair’s letters had stopped. Jane was unsurprised when she received no response from her sister.

During the month of Kingsway, Jane returned to Ostwick for the first time in five years. It was strange to stay in the castle she’d known as her grandfather’s--the castle that now belonged to her cousin, Bann John Trevelyan. She spent most of the time locked in her room. Too many memories crowded the place. From her window, she caught glimpses of her cousins’ children playing familiar games on the manicured grounds. According to Cullen, the smallest two had taken a shine to Lydia, who taught them songs about the Hero of Ferelden, and how to turn a blade of grass into a whistle. Jane smiled softly at that. She wondered if their own children might one day benefit from Aunt Lydia’s wisdom.

Lord Trevelyan’s funeral occurred without incident. He was buried in the family plot, behind the Ostwick chantry. When the funeral was over, Jane received condolences from what seemed to be a never ending line of mourners.

Hours later, the chantry emptied, leaving only the family. The Revered Mother gave a few personal words of comfort to Lady Trevelyan. Jane and her sisters found themselves waiting by the door with their cousin, the Bann. They watched as the final guests left. 

“I didn’t realize there’d be so many people,” Jane admitted. “Grandfather’s funeral seemed so much smaller, didn’t it?”

John gave her a sidelong glance. “It was,” he said curtly. He paused, as though considering his next words. “These people were not here for my uncle’s sake. _Inquisitor.”_ The last word was heavy with bitterness. With that, he stalked away. Jane stared after him with her mouth hanging open, feeling as if she'd been slapped.  

“Oh, don’t let him get to you,” Lydia told her, crossing her arms. “He’s always been an idiot.”

“Lydia!” Jane scolded, turning to her sister.  

Lydia shrugged. “What? Father would have told you the exact same thing.”

“She's right, Jane,” Kitty said. She ducked her head, hiding a small smile. “I remember once, when we were little, our uncle the Bann was praising Johnny for something stupid. He said _'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'_ And Father leaned down and whispered, _'Unfortunately.'”_

Jane couldn’t stop the laugh before it escaped her. Lydia laughed, too. Kitty bumped shoulders with them both, her grin widening.

At that moment, Jane felt the loss of her father more than she had at any point during the service. Her sisters' thoughts must have been similarly occupied, because they sobered, their smiles disappearing. They turned to watch Lady Trevelyan sob on the Revered Mother's shoulder, and waited in silence. 

~~~

 

Autumn came in full force, bringing brisk mornings and early nights. The Southern leaves turned gold, and bandits began to stalk the highways, waiting to loot shipments from the harvest.

With Jane's help, the council moved the bulk of the Inquisition's people from Skyhold to Longbourn, where Cullen began building proper fortification for the village. Jane was happy to be back amongst familiar faces. Harding set to work, recruiting new people from the area. Dagna took it upon herself to design a dozen different prosthetics for Jane’s arm, and assured Jane that she would find something that worked (“Quick question,” she asked the first day. “How do you feel about wyvern venom?”) Harritt, the smith, was upset to learn about Lizzie’s disappearance. He asked for news every time Jane visited the new forge.

Josephine did a census once they were settled. She found that only half of the Inquisition mages had joined them at Longbourn. Jane did not find that strange. She recognized that Lizzie was not the only mage who disliked their new arrangement with the Divine. She _was_ surprised to see a few templars were missing as well--not as many, but enough to matter. Cullen suggested that they may have returned to Val Royeaux, or joined the rogue templars, now that there was no distinction between Inquisition and Chantry.

It was not until Jane spoke with the tranquil named Helisma that she even suspected something larger could be amiss.

“Thank you for all your help,” she told Helisma, glancing over a report about the spirit guardians that they’d fought at the sanctuary. “I hope you know how much we appreciate it.”

“I do,” Helisma said flatly. “That is why I did not choose to go with the others.”

Jane paused. “What do you mean, the others?”

“The tranquil were told by a few of the mages that if we did not feel secure in our position within the Inquisition, there was a place for us. Some of the tranquil joined them.”

Jane stared at her. “Where did they go?”

“I do not know. Those of us who declined were not informed.”

Jane studied Helisma’s face. She lowered her voice. “Were they elves?”

“No,” Helisma replied.

Jane thanked her again.

Later that day, as she trained with Dagna’s first prosthetic arm--half of it was a shield--she told Cassandra what she’d heard. “You don’t think they’re joining Solas, do you?” she asked.

Cassandra shook her head, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her wrist. “I doubt that. He would not be so blatant. Perhaps a group of mages decided to try and make for Tevinter. That was common, back before the war.” She took a swig of water from a skin. “If so, it is a reckless plan. The Divine has added security to the northern border since the Exalted Council.”

Jane thought that seemed unlikely. One of the missing mages was Fiona, and Jane could not imagine that _she_ would return to the Imperium, voluntarily. Still, she could not think of another explanation. And stranger things had happened. Fiona had been fooled by Alexius, once.

She let the matter drop and focused on the Inquisition.

 

~~~

 

A week later, Jane planned one final family tea before Lady Trevelyan and Lydia moved north for the winter, leaving Kitty and Jane with the Inquisition. Unsurprisingly, Jane’s engagement to Cullen had become her mother’s favorite topic of conversation. That afternoon was no exception. Lady Trevelyan was urging Jane to marry quickly, while Lydia sat on the couch, reading Varric’s newest book, and Kitty iced her finger from a burn she’d received in the forge.

“I really don’t think a few more months will scare him away, Mama,” Jane replied.

“I wouldn’t risk it, if I were you,” Lady Trevelyan said. “Don’t you remember what happened to Bann Astley’s daughter? Theodora?”

“No.”

Lady Trevelyan lowered her voice, as if someone might be listening. “Well! She formed an attachment with a handsome young Ferelden--one of the Wulff boys--and they fixed the date for a spring wedding. ‘ _It’s bad luck to get married in the winter,’_ her grandmother told everyone. A very superstitious old woman. Miserly, too. She was from Ansburg, you see. Or was it Markham?” None of her daughters knew, and she waved away the thought. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. _Anyway,_ Theodora waited, and waited, and what do you think happened next?” She paused dramatically. “The Blight came! The Wulff boy was killed, along with his brother.” She shook her head sadly. “The wedding never came to pass.”

“How awful!” Jane exclaimed.

“But Mama,” Kitty said, her brow tightening in confusion. “If they’d married, wouldn’t Theodora have been in Ferelden when the Blight happened?”

“I assume so,” Lady Trevelyan said.

“Then she might have been killed, too,” Kitty pointed out.

Lady Trevelyan gave her daughter a significant look. “Well! At least she would have been _married_ . And an _arlessa.”_

“A dead arlessa,” Lydia added without looking up.

“The point,” Lady Trevelyan said, glaring at both of them, _“_ is that one should never delay a wedding.”

“That… sounds like the opposite of the point,” Kitty said doubtfully.

Lady Trevelyan pursed her lips. “Oh, and just what would _you_ know about marriage, Kitty? Denny left you, just as I said he would. If you’d only taken _my_ advice, you’d be his wife by now, and he would have _had_ to stay!”

Jane winced. Denny and Kitty had apparently parted ways; one of the names on the list of missing templars was Knight-Commander Delrin Barris. Kitty was taking it better than expected, but Jane wished their mother would not be so cruel about such things.

Kitty shrugged. “It was a mutual decision. Denny didn’t break any promises.”

“All men break promises,” Lady Trevelyan declared. “They all stray. But at least if you marry them, they’re forced to stay by your side while doing so. Look at your father!” She gestured toward the library. “He stayed with me, and he was having a serious affair the whole time. Right up to his death.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Oh, not _this_ again,” she muttered.

“Father?” Jane asked, astonished.

Kitty looked shocked as well. “An _affair?”_

“Yes,” Lady Trevelyan said. “It’s right there in his will. He left a fifth of his capital to some woman I’ve never even heard of. It must have been his mistress, of course.”

Lydia put down her book with a groan. “Please. Father was about as capable of having an affair as _I_ am of killing an archdemon.”

Jane opened her mouth to argue that killing an archdemon was a much simpler task than Lydia might imagine, then closed it again. She wondered if Corypheus’s dragon actually counted as a true archdemon. Solas had referred to it as a replica, once, which she’d taken with a grain of salt at the time. But now it occurred to her that he probably knew more than he’d let on. Not for the first time, she wished she’d had more time to question him in the temple.

“And besides,” Lydia continued, dragging Jane back to the present, “how could he possibly have an affair with someone in _Kirkwall?_ We’ve been in Ferelden for five years. The only time he went back to the Free Marches, he visited our cousins in Ostwick.”

 _“Allegedly,”_ Lady Trevelyan sniffed.

“How do we know she lives in Kirkwall?” Kitty asked.

“She’s listed by name in the will,” Lydia explained.

“E. Amell,” Lady Trevelyan added. Her lips twisted. “Tramp. _How_ they even met, I have no idea.”

“I _told_ you, Mama,” Lydia said, with as much patience as a girl like Lydia could muster. “She’s a smith. She made the Trevelyan shield that’s over the fireplace in the dining room.” Jane’s eyes went wide. She knew the shield her sister was talking about; she’d recognized it as one of Lizzie’s the moment she saw it. She tried to catch Kitty's eye, but it was fixed on the floor. Lydia turned back to her book. “I think he just liked her work.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lydia,” Lady Trevelyan said. “One doesn’t leave a fifth of one’s fortune to someone simply because one likes their _work.”_

Jane could hardly listen. Her mind was racing. As quickly as she could, she excused herself and went to go find Cullen.

He was outside at a makeshift workdesk, comparing two blueprints. As she got closer, Jane could see they were for the new watchtower she’d commissioned. He ran his hand over his chin and frowned.

“Cullen,” she said, touching his shoulder.

Scanning the blueprint on the left, he hummed a response, distracted.

“Why does the name Amell sound familiar?” she asked.

He snapped his head up. “Uh,” he stuttered, staring at her. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked back down. “Well. They’re a noble family in the Free Marches. Or they were. I’m not sure there are any Amells left, now.” He considered. “Gamlen may still be around.”

“Gamlen?” Jane asked.

“Yes. The Hawkes’ uncle. The Champion’s mother was an Amell. Why do you ask?”

 _“Oh,”_ Jane realized. She gazed into the middle distance. “It’s Hawke’s sister.”

Cullen blinked. “Sorry, what?”

 _Elinor Hawke._ Jane had heard the name most recently from Varric, when they were at the Winter Palace. She was suddenly more certain about her theory than ever. In fact, another thought clicked into place. “Cullen,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I think Lizzie’s in Kirkwall.”

“But we searched Kirkwall already,” he said. “As did the Divine. No one found anything.”

It was true. They’d searched Kirkwall more thoroughly than any other city, in fact. Cassandra insisted that Varric had been an accomplice somehow, but Leliana could not find any sign of her sister.

“My father left money to a woman named E. Amell, who lives in Kirkwall,” Jane explained. “She makes and sells weapons. It _must_ be Lizzie. Don’t you think?”

Cullen crossed his arms, thinking. “The money _would_ explain how she’s stayed hidden for so long.”

They shared the news with the rest of the council (“I am going to _kill_ that dwarf,” Cassandra muttered through gritted teeth), and Jane went to sleep that night certain they were a step closer to finding her sister. She was hopeful enough that she began to worry about their next steps. Jane knew there was a chance that Lizzie would refuse to rejoin the Inquisition, even after the council made their case to her; there was also a chance that Victoria would end up refusing to let her stay anyway. But she was determined to try. She had to.

She _had_ to.

~~~

 

Over the next few weeks, Leliana followed up on Jane’s hunch. Varric and Elinor firmly denied any involvement, and claimed to have no insight into who E. Amell might be. Varric brazenly suggested the whole thing was a coincidence. A furious Cassandra threatened to go to Kirkwall herself and make him talk; Josephine reminded her that there was a difference between interrogating a controversial writer during wartime on the Divine’s orders, and harassing a beloved Viscount during a time of peace.

The Merchant’s Guild proved more useful. Initially, they told the Inquisition that they did not share information about their clientele, but after Leliana sent her best agent to talk to them, they changed their tune. They admitted that at one point, they’d had a client named E. Amell, and that she’d had a sizable account with them, but it was gone. She’d cleared the whole thing out over a month ago. Since then, there had been no trace of her.

Leliana delivered the report in person. Jane read over the details as she spoke. The account was much larger than Jane had anticipated, eight times the amount Lord Trevelyan had contributed.

When Leliana finished, she cocked an eyebrow. “Wherever she is, your sister is a very wealthy woman.”

Jane heard her, but did not process the words immediately. She was caught on the fact that the account had been co-signed by Marianne Hawke--meaning it had been opened in 9:41 Dragon. Even knowing as she did that Lizzie had wanted to leave the Inquisition long before the Exalted Council, her heart twisted at the fact that her sister’s plans had gone back so far.

 _Well, she was right to plan ahead,_ Jane thought to herself, feeling worse.

“Will the money keep her safe?” she asked, glancing up.

Leliana shrugged. “She can pay for protection, and room, and board. Many templars accept bribes.”

Cullen agreed. “And others can be misled by the ones accepting bribes.”

Leliana smirked. “Speaking from personal experience, Commander?”

Cullen shot her a look. “Not all of us have your _talent_ for suspicion.”

“Where is she keeping it all?” Jane wondered out loud. “She must have some sort of base. If we can find that--”

“Then we risk bringing it to the Divine’s attention,” Leliana said. “Currently, Victoria is assuming--as we did--that your sister is lacking in resources. That gives her an edge. We will continue to look for her as we did before, Inquisitor. But this is promising.” She tilted her head forward. “And remember--no news _is_ good news.”

Jane nodded. Lizzie had a way to protect herself. That had to be enough for now.

 

~~~

 

The Inquisition settled into Longbourn well. It would never be Skyhold, but after several months of hard work, it was better equipped than Haven had been before Corypheus attacked. Commerce was returning to normal levels. Jane finally felt comfortable making plans to leave for Kirkwall. She told Cullen as much one night, as they stood on the top of the new watchtower, looking over the village. As always, he seemed apprehensive about returning to the city, but pleased to discuss a life away from the Inquisition.

“Before we leave,” she told him, “I think we should get married.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to wait until we had news of your sister.”

“I did, but….” Jane trailed off, biting her lip.

Cullen took her hand. “Jane,” he said gently. His gaze grew concerned. “You mustn’t give up hope. She’s out there, somewhere. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s not that,” she assured him. She gazed at his handsome face and his deep brown eyes, made darker by the night. Silver strands of moonlight dusted the gold of his hair. Linking his fingers in hers, she pulled his hand to her stomach. “I’d like to be married before I start to show,” she told him softly.

Cullen stared at her. His eyes grew wider. “You’re…,” he began.

“Pregnant,” Jane said. “Yes. Three months.” She ducked her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I… I wanted to be sure. With the loss of the anchor…of my arm…. I didn’t know if it would last. But it has.” She shrugged. “It must have inherited your resilience,” she joked, squeezing his hand.

He softened. A grin tugged at his lips, and he let out a laugh. Grabbing her into an embrace, he lifted her up so only her toes brushed the floor.

The world tilted. She had no hand to grab his shoulder. “Cullen!” she exclaimed. “Careful!”

Cullen put her down immediately. Lines appeared in his forehead as he looked her over. “Oh, Maker, I didn’t think. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No! I’m fine. I just felt off-balance.” He was still tense, so she touched his cheek. “Cullen. I’m fine.”

He relaxed. Grinning again, he pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her deeply, deep enough that she could feel his stubble rub against her skin. His joy was infectious. She felt giddy, the happiest she had in months. She had suspected--and then she'd known--but until she'd said it out loud, it hadn't seemed real. After so much loss, gaining something--something so precious, something so perfect--was like a gift from the Maker Himself.

He broke away. “We’re going to have a child,” he said, awed.

“Yes,” she said, flushing. She laughed and brushed his face with her thumb. “Yes, we are.”

 

~~~

 

They were wed on the bank of the river behind Longbourn, with Mother Giselle as the officiant. Josephine wanted to throw a large celebration, but Jane turned her down. The last thing she wanted was to be surrounded by a crowd of nobles she barely knew, and Cullen’s family was too busy with the harvest, anyway. In the end, the only guests were Bingley and Kitty.

Victoria sent congratulations. She granted Jane and Cullen’s request for an extended leave of absence, and decided that she would come to Longbourn to see them off herself. Jane wanted to decline, but Josephine convinced her that a visit was a good idea.

“You will be away for an extended period of time. Having people see that you support the Divine will make the transition easier.” Josephine paused. “And you will need to update Victoria on our efforts against Solas, minor as they have been.”

Jane relented. The past three months had seen very little progress, but that had not softened her resolve to save Solas. If anything, she was more determined than ever. She would not let loss harden her heart, not like it had apparently hardened his.

And so Inquisitor Jane Rutherford welcomed Divine Victoria to Longbourn at the beginning of the fourth month. The Divine arrived with an impressive retinue of templars, Revered Mothers, and Chancellors. Some protesters from the village showed up, but they were peaceful, so Jane did not arrest them. 

The council met that evening in Lord Trevelyan’s library. It was the most private room in the house. Jane still felt a pang in her heart every time she entered, half-expecting to see her father reading by the fireplace. They sat in an array of mismatched chairs around Jane's desk, for want of a table. 

Victoria explained that she wished to begin placing the Inquisition templars and mages under official Chantry law. As promised, Jane would be in charge, but the mages would need to be processed by a Circle. Jane listened, uneasy. She was aware that this was what her sister had hoped to avoid.

She felt a phantom twitch where the anchor used to be, and tried to squeeze a hand that wasn’t there.

“I’d prefer the mages travel with someone they trust, of course,” Victoria said. “A strange templar can be a frightening prospect, especially for a young apprentice. It is of utmost importance that the mages are comfortable. Personally, I recommend Knight-Commander Barris for the job, but of course the final decision is yours.”

“Oh,” Jane said. She hesitated. “I would agree, of course, but Ser Barris is no longer with the Inquisition.”

“I beg your pardon?” Victoria asked, stilling.

“He never came to Longbourn.” Victoria’s gaze grew piercing. Jane shifted uncomfortably. “I _did_ write you that some of the templars never arrived.” 

Victoria looked away, frowning. “Yes. I did not realize that the Knight-Commander was one of them.”

“We thought he may have returned to the White Spire,” Cassandra added.

“No,” Victoria said. “No, he did not.”

“That’s strange,” Jane said. “Could he have gone to some other Circle? He doesn’t seem the type to join the rogue templars.”

Victoria did not answer. She tapped her armrest, thinking. “Do you happen to have a list of _all_ the missing templars?” she asked after a moment.

Leliana did. At Jane’s nod, she fetched the list and handed it to Victoria. The Divine read over the names carefully, as if searching for something. Jane hadn’t given it much more than a glance. Most of them were the officers who worked directly with Barris; she’d assumed they’d all gone back to Val Royeaux together. Now, as Victoria’s face tensed, she began to worry.

“Well,” Victoria said darkly, after a pause. “Obviously we must put a stop to this.”

“Put a stop to what?” Jane asked, confused.

Victoria’s expression smoothed. She gave Jane an even look. “Darling, _surely_ you realize that there is a difference between a handful of recruits who ran away because they weren’t suited to the uniform, and a Knight-Commander abandoning his post with ten of his best soldiers. This was organized. These men are deserters.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “I cannot imagine that Barris would do such a thing.”

Victoria turned to her. “You do not need to,” she said curtly. “Because he has.” Her eyes returned to the list, ignoring the shock on Cassandra's face. “Did Barris control the lyrium supply for his men?”

“Yes,” Jane said.

“And how many suppliers was he using?”

“Three,” Leliana answered.

Josephine jumped in to clarify. “Two through Denerim, and one directly from Orzammar.”

Victoria nodded thoughtfully. She put down the list. “Cut them off.”

A stunned silence fell over the room.

 _“What?”_ Cassandra exclaimed.

“Cut off the suppliers,” Victoria said. “Barris would have reached out to one before leaving. He is not the sort to leave his men wanting.”

Cassandra frowned. “I... agree that _if_ these men are deserters, they should be tracked down and compelled to return. But cutting off their lyrium with no warning? That would be cruel.”

“Not cruel,” Victoria said. “Prudent. Apparently, they wish to part ways with the Chantry. Let them feel the full effect of what that means.”

Jane threw a concerned glance at Cullen, but he was staring at the Divine. “What of the templars here at Longbourn?” he asked sharply.

“The Chantry will provide their lyrium from now on. The fact that we were not doing so already was an oversight on my part, and I apologize. New contacts will be provided for you in the morning.”

“Your Perfection,” Cassandra said firmly. “We do not know the circumstances.” She waved a hand at the list. “All of these templars are good soldiers. I _know_ them. There must be some sort of misunderstanding. The Seekers could investigate.” Victoria let out a breath of derision, and Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “It is what we are trained to do. Under Justinia, the Seekers would have been entrusted with these templars safe return.”

Victoria cocked an eyebrow. “Darling. Under Justinia, a Knight-Commander abused her power unchecked for the better half of a decade; a chantry was destroyed by an abomination; and a war broke out between the mages and templars. I am not likely to rule by her precedent.”

Cassandra’s eyes burned. “If you do this, these people will suffer. Some may die.”

“Not if they return,” Victoria said. “The choice is theirs.”

“What you are suggesting is _inhumane,”_ Cassandra insisted.

“And what Barris has done is treason. I cannot treat it as anything less. Do you really believe that the Chantry should tolerate a group of templars simply walking away from their duties in the middle of the night?” Victoria paused. “Though… I suppose that is what happened, the last time a Seeker was left in charge,” she added coolly. Jane heard Josephine gasp beside her.

Cassandra stood so quickly that her chair wobbled. “You are out of line,” she snapped.

Victoria’s stare turned dangerous. “Sit down, Lady Seeker.”

Cassandra clenched her jaw. She took in a breath, an obvious attempt to calm herself. She let it out. “This is something I cannot condone,” she said slowly, her voice still hard. “I refuse to be part of it.”

Victoria stood. “Then you are welcome to leave.”

Cassandra stared at her, anger and conflict brewing in her eyes. Victoria did not move. The room buzzed with tension, and Jane felt her heart in her throat. Finally, Cassandra shook her head and strode toward the door.

“Cassandra--,” Jane began to call after her.

But Cassandra ignored her. The door clicked shut behind her. Victoria paused before sitting again, turning to Jane. “I apologize, Inquisitor. I’m no fan of making people suffer, but you must agree that we cannot continue to supply lyrium to templars who vanish. It would set a ridiculous precedent.”

Jane hesitated, glancing at Cullen. His mouth was a thin line, and he met her gaze, resigned. She knew his thoughts reflected her own: if they found Lizzie, they would need all the political capital they could get to make their case to Victoria. As much as she wanted to help Barris, this could not be the hill the Inquisitor would die on.

“I understand,” she said, looking back at Victoria. “My quartermaster will have the names of the suppliers. I’ll write them as soon as possible.”

“Excellent,” Victoria said. “Then that’s settled. Commander, I’m sure you can recommend a replacement for the escort. We can work out the details later.” She leaned back, folding her hands in her lap, looking eager to change the subject. “So. Tell me about our efforts in Tevinter.”

 

~~~

 

After the meeting, Jane stayed in the library to finish some correspondence she’d meant to send out earlier. Writing took much longer than it used to. She had to lean over the parchment in an odd way to hold it with the stub of her elbow, or she risked blotting the ink. Between that and the pregnancy, her back ached.

She was stretching when a knock came at the door. “Come in!” she called.

Cassandra entered. “Inquisitor,” she greeted, closing the door behind her.

“Good evening.” Jane took in her dour expression. “Ah. Is this about earlier?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “No,” she corrected. She sighed, frustrated. “In a manner of speaking.” She held out a folded letter.

Jane took it. She cracked the Seeker seal on the back and began to read. After the first line, her eyes snapped up. “What is this?” she demanded.

Cassandra bowed her head. “A letter of resignation. The Order of the Seekers is growing. They need me. Given the circumstances, I am unable to continue serving under the Inquisition.”

 _“Cassandra,”_ Jane said. She held the letter out, begging Cassandra to take it back. “No. _Please._ You can’t do this.”

Cassandra shook her head, clasping her hands behind her back. “I am sorry. But I must.”

“Is this about the lyrium? Because I can speak to Victoria. The only reason I didn’t try to back you was that--”

“I am aware of your reasons,” Cassandra interrupted. “There are bigger fights to come--more important ones. But even if you were to change Victoria’s mind, it would not change mine. It was not the first quarrel of its kind, and….” She looked down, sighing, then met Jane’s eyes again. “I believe in your mission, Inquisitor. Solas must be stopped. If anyone can achieve that impossible task, it is you. And I do not envy the… compromises you will have to make along the way.”

“I don’t _have_ to--”

“You do,” Cassandra insisted. “As I did, once.” Her expression turned earnest. “I have stood where you now stand. You are bound here by your title. By your duty. By your obligation to the people of Thedas.”

Jane looked at her, desperately. “And you’re not?”

Cassandra closed her eyes. “There was a time that I was. But, no. My duty lies elsewhere now.” She swallowed. “I would stay if…. It was different when….” Again, she trailed off. A pained flicker crossed her face, and she turned to face the fireplace, balling her hands into fists. The flames lit her in gold and darkened the line between her eyes. “I worked with two Divines before Victoria. From time to time, I may have questioned their wisdom, or their methods, but never-- _never--_ did I doubt their faith. Never did I doubt that the Chant of Light was in their hearts, and never did I doubt that they represented the most devout among us.” She looked at Jane. “Today, I did not only _doubt._ Today, I _knew._ Divine Victoria places her own power above that of the Maker. And I cannot stand behind such a woman as she manipulates the Chantry into something it is not meant to be.”

Jane’s throat bobbed. She dropped the letter on her desk, dismayed. She wanted badly to argue, but she could hear that Cassandra was resolved, and she knew from years of experience that once Cassandra made up her mind about something, she could not be swayed.

“Truly,” Cassandra said in a softer voice. “I am sorry.”

Jane touched her forehead. “As am I,” she said. She let out a breath. “But I understand. When will you leave?”

The atmosphere loosened. “Dawn,” Cassandra said. “I have already packed.”

“So soon?” Jane asked. Cassandra nodded. Jane rubbed the stub of her arm. “Where will you go?”

“Nevarra, first. I have not been back in many years. Then, I will go to the Seekers. They deserve a leader whose focus is on them.”

“Of course. They are… they are very lucky to have you.” She paused. “Have you told the others?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “Cullen was not pleased, either.” There was a heavy silence. “I plan to have a copy made of my journal. My observations. I’m sure someone can continue in my absence. It is important that the Inquisition remembers who we were, and where we came from.”

“I… yes,” Jane said. She bit her lip, an ache forming her chest. She glanced down at the letter, then met Cassandra’s gaze again. “Well. Maybe I’ll keep our next scribe better informed,” she joked weakly.

“I doubt that very much,” Cassandra said dryly with the hint of a smile. It faded as she looked away. “I want you to know… that it has been a great honor to call you a friend, Inquisitor.”

“I don’t see why that needs to end,” Jane said sincerely. “Kirkwall is not so far from Nevarra. And I promise I’ll write.”

Cassandra nodded. “I would appreciate that.”

Jane gave her a sad smile. “Thank you for… for everything.”

Cassandra tilted her chin up. “Perhaps it is I who should be thanking you. You are, after all, the reason I have the freedom to do this. To restore the Seekers.” She inclined her head. “Goodbye, Jane. And good luck.”

Jane went around her desk and wrapped her arm around Cassandra, embracing her as tightly as she could. _“Maker,_ I’ll miss you,” she said, the threat of tears making her voice crack.

Cassandra returned the hug stiffly. “And I you.” She dabbed her eyes when they broke apart, turning to leave. Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back once, throwing a final look Jane’s way.

And then she was gone.

Jane stood in the middle of the room for several minutes. Sighing, she sat in a reading chair by the fireplace. She read over the resignation letter twice. Cassandra did not mention the Divine, instead opting to attribute her departure to the growth of the new Seekers. That, Jane decided, was probably for the best.

When Jane got to the end, she folded the letter with some difficulty, and wiped the tears from her cheek. Another gaping hole that she would need to step around, to navigate across. She tried to imagine what an Inquisition without Cassandra would look like. It seemed impossible.

Then again, hadn’t an Inquisition without Skyhold seemed impossible once? A Longbourn without Father? An Inquisitor without a shield arm?

A world without Lizzie?

Yet time kept marching forward. The Inquisition persisted. Longbourn still stood. She had begun sparring again.

Life went on.

Jane placed her hand on her stomach and squeezed her eyes shut. Beginnings came from endings, she reminded herself. There was a future out there, if she was strong enough to protect it.

She breathed out. She hoped that Cassandra was right, and that her choices were necessary. Maybe one day, she would be able to choose for herself, instead of for Thedas. Maybe one day, she could build something beautiful of her own, instead of trying to fix a world broken by people long before she was born.

It was too promising a wish to consider.

Jane stood. She stoked the flames in the fireplace and returned to her work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this _technically_ isn't canon, but in the Divine Vivienne epilogue for Trespasser, Cassandra gets the following note, no matter what choices you made:
> 
>  
> 
> _The Exalted Council remained intact, advising Divine Victoria on important matters. Cassandra served for several years. However, she eventually grew disgusted by Vivienne - who she felt was perverting the Chant of Light's intent - and left the council._
> 
>  
> 
> In my mind, if she quit the Exalted Council over Vivienne's policies, she would probably quit a Chantry-aligned Inquisition. I shortened it to a few months instead of several years, too, just because I didn't want to stretch out the other plot points. 
> 
> PS - No one caught the easter egg so far, so I will tell you as promised: after Mr. Bennet died, Longbourn went to Mr. Collins :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! And a huge thank you to Tress13 who gave me great Vivienne feedback <3 I don't love turning any of the companions into antagonists, because I adore them all, and it's hard to walk the line between keeping her in character and having her act as a hurdle sometimes.


	11. a sword to pierce the sun

****Jane woke early, alone. There was a familiar stillness in the air that she could not quite place. The light from her window seemed brighter than usual. She crawled out of bed and, surprised by the chill in the room, shrugged on a robe before going to investigate.

Outside, the world was crystal white.

She leaned against the window frame. A quiet sense of wonder spread through her as she took in the scene. It was her fifth winter in the south, and yet snow still found a way to entrance her. The river looked ink-black against the fresh layer of white that blanketed the ground, and the trees’ branches hung low under their own weight.

It would be a long time before she saw anything like it again, she knew. Kirkwall might have flurries from time to time, but, much like Ostwick, it was rare to get a full covering. There was a blizzard once, just after the Blight. Her only other memories of snow this thick were in the Frostbacks, and--

Her smile faded. Sahrnia. Where shards of red lyrium grew from the bodies of fallen templars, melting the ice around them. Where she nearly caught pneumonia after she’d sweated through her armor in the mines. Where the air smelled of winter and blood and something sweet but rotten.

She closed her eyes, willing the images away.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jane startled, turning to see Cullen in the doorway. She eased her grip on her robe. “I was… just thinking the same thing,” she lied. In his hands were two steaming mugs. He joined her at the window, and Emprise du Lion was replaced by the surprising scent of cocoa and warm, brown eyes. “No tea this morning?” she asked.

“I thought this called for celebration,” he said. “It’s good luck when the first snow actually lands in Firstfall, you know.” He held out one mug.

She shifted, adjusting her robe so it would not slide off her left shoulder when she let go, and carefully accepted the drink. “Really?” she asked, taking a sip. It was hot and just on the cusp of bitter, as she preferred it. “According to whom?”

“A Revered Mother I knew in Honnleath.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So far south? Surely that’s cheating.”

He chuckled. He put his arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I wouldn’t question it. We need all the luck we can get.”

“Hm. The South, or the Inquisition?”

“Both?” he suggested.

That much was true. She looked back out the window. “I hope Cassandra didn’t get caught in the storm.” The Divine had taken Cassandra’s resignation well, all things considered. In the week following her departure, the few duties she’d had left were shifted to Knight-Captain Lysette. Josephine and Leliana were already splitting a fair amount of work, what with Cullen and Jane’s upcoming departure. Jane frowned at that thought. “I hope _we_ don’t get caught in it.”

Cullen followed Jane’s gaze. “She’ll be nearly at the Waking Sea by now. The most she’ll get is rain. And this will melt in a day or two. We’re fine.” When she put down her mug on the windowsill and stretched, he placed his hands on her shoulders, lightly massaging them. She leaned back with an appreciative murmur, her eyes falling shut. “Better?” he asked.

“Much,” she sighed.

She treasured small moments like this, where everything almost felt normal. The guilt and pain that were always present lurked somewhere in her chest, threatening to spill over, but she was learning to cope. She had to. If not for herself, then for Cullen, and for the child she carried.

Cullen paused in his massage. “Shall we go down to breakfast?”

Jane looked outside again at the untouched banks of snow, pure and clean and perfect. She memorized the sight as best she could before smiling at her husband. “Yes,” she said. “Let’s.”

 

~~~

 

It was early enough that they had the parlor to themselves. Cook brought them a platter of bacon, eggs, and flaky rolls with butter and peach preserves. Jane devoured her portion while they discussed the tasks they had left around Longbourn. Cullen suggested that with so many of their duties in other people’s hands, they had time for a walk before they were needed anywhere.

Bingley went wild for the snow. When they first let him out, he ran around in a figure eight until Cullen whistled him back to his side. Even then, he couldn’t stop sniffing it. As they walked, every few minutes, he’d bury his snout in a snowbank and then pull it out, huffing cheerifully, crystal flakes clinging to his whiskers. Cullen found a stick and threw it. Bingley bounded after it, then tilted his head quizzically when it disappeared into a snowpile.

“Go on,” Cullen urged. “It’s in there.”

Bingley pawed at the powder doubtfully. He found the end of the stick, and perked up. He grabbed it quickly with his jaw, as if it could disappear again, and galloped back to Cullen.

After a few more rounds of fetch, Jane felt a chill, despite her heavy cloak. They headed back. Cullen was telling Jane about his plans to have his family visit Kirkwall in the summer, to see the baby, when he fell silent. He nodded his head forward, drawing Jane’s attention to the gate. They’d been gone for less than a quarter hour, and yet Charter was waiting for them, looking anxious.

“Inquisitor,” she said, stepping forward. “Leliana needs to see you. It’s urgent.”

Jane grew serious. “Where is she?” she asked.

“In the library.”

Jane thanked her and strode toward the house. Cullen followed silently, keeping pace. She tried not to speculate-- _‘urgent’_ could mean anything. Still, that did not stop her heart from hammering. If her involvement was necessary this close to her departure, it could be something major. Most matters had been delegated to other people.

Most matters, except Solas and Lizzie.

Jane took a deep breath when she reached the library. She opened the door. Josephine and Leliana were huddled over a parchment that Leliana held, murmuring. Their expressions were firm, but not somber, to Jane’s relief. The two of them looked up as Jane and Cullen entered.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana said.

Jane waited for Cullen to close the door before replying. “You asked to see me?”

Leliana exchanged a quick look with Josephine--one that Jane could not decipher--then silently held out the scroll in her hand. Jane bit back her questions-- _Is it Lizzie?--_ and unrolled part of it with some difficulty. Cullen provided a second hand. Together, they began to read.  

 

_People of Thedas,_

_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. This truth is the cornerstone of any good Andrastian’s faith, regardless of their country, their rank, their race, and even the magic in their blood. In the Maker’s name, Andraste waged a war against tyrants who used this power to oppress others and bring a Blight upon the world. And in her memory, we all hold the wisdom of the Chant close to our hearts._

_But what does the Chant mean when it says_ ‘to serve man’ _? Mankind has spent the better part of nine centuries debating that very question. Is magic an inherent danger that, unregulated, would threaten our way of life? Or is it a blessing that helps us build cities, fight battles, heal wounds, and cure diseases?_

_Can it be both?_

_If it is both, then the role of the Chantry should be to minimize the dangers, while encouraging the benefits. And years ago, it was. But no longer. In focusing on the threat of magic, we have lost sight of the will of the people who yield it. Too often, we assume that the way the world looked when we were children is the way the world has always been. In the case of mages and the Chantry, nothing could be further from the truth. The Circle of Magi was never intended to be a blanket solution for all mages and templars, nor should it ever have been._

_In the early Divine Age, when Emperor Drakon realized that untrained apostates and criminal maleficarum were plaguing the land, he went to Ameridan, who led an independent organization called the Inquisition. Together, they wrote what would one day become the Nevarran Accord. This document defined the relationship between the Chantry and the Inquisition, which became the Orders of the Templars and the Seekers. It does not mention the Circle of Magi by name; it only states that, with the help of the Inquisition, mages would be kept “_ _under good regulation_ _”. Further details are never expressly stated. The reason why became clear earlier this year: Inquisitor Ameridan was a mage himself. We know, now, that the Chantry had no interest in limiting the freedoms of trained mages who only wished to serve man, as Andraste herself envisioned. And we follow in their footsteps today, in our support of a Divine who is a mage herself._

_The Circle of Magi was meant to train young apprentices--to guard them, and ensure that they were safe from themselves and others. It was meant to stop those who would intentionally harm, and to reform those who would unintentionally harm. But it was never meant to be a place where skilled, fully grown mages were imprisoned, with little compassion and no hope of a future outside the Chantry. It was not meant to be a place where our most devout and loyal soldiers’ skills are wasted on guarding peaceful citizens from other peaceful citizens, with limited opportunity and an uncertain future._

_It was not meant for every mage. It was not built for every templar. Is it any wonder that both sides chafed under this system, seeking to wrench control from each other until things escalated to the point of war?_

_An alternative is not just wise. It is necessary._

_Which is why we, the free mages of the Inquisition, are forming a new College of Enchanters in Cumberland. This will not be the College of the past. It will be a place of learning; a place to educate young mages and help them strengthen their will. And it will be a place where a templar’s service is not for life._

_As of today, we consider ourselves a lawful faction, distinct from the Chantry, led by Head Enchanter Elizabeth Trevelyan. Already, we have numbers that rival any Southern circle--including a team of templars, who support our cause, led by Knight-Commander Delrin Barris._

_These early days are of the utmost importance. They will define how magic is treated over the next decade, the next century. Many of you have mage relatives, distant or near. Many of you know there is magic in your blood--that it could manifest in your children, or their children, or their grandchildren. Some of you care deeply about the mages already in your life--apostates, childhood friends who disappeared without warning, people you met during the war. And some of you care about the templars you know; you’ve watched their quiet suffering, only to eventually lose them, in mind if not body, without knowing why._

_The College will fight for the inherent rights of your loved ones._

_We know we have sympathizers among you. The time for silence is at an end. Stand with the College, and we will make sure the mages of Thedas are given a future that is not only secure, but that is also just._

 

_Signed,_

_The College of Enchanters_

 

Jane’s lips parted. For a moment, she could not think of anything to say. The deep relief she felt at knowing where Lizzie was battled with the astonishment of what she’d just read. Cullen let go, and she turned the scroll in her hand, glimpsing the broken wax seal on the back--a golden circle split into four segments, like a pie cut twice down the middle.

 _This is what she was trying to tell me,_ Jane realized.

Cullen spoke first. “How did we not know about this?” he demanded. Jane knew without looking that his question was directed at Leliana.

“Cumberland became a blind spot,” Leliana admitted. “To be honest, I did not expect Elizabeth--or any of the mages--to go _toward_ a circle.”

“But the funds,” Cullen said. Jane looked up at him. His eyes were narrow and fixed on Leliana. “The resources this would require. Your people noticed _nothing?”_

Leliana’s expression did not change. “No.”

Cullen's lips thinned. He clearly didn’t trust her answer, but he did not press it. He sighed, looking back down. “Who else received a copy?” he asked, gesturing toward the letter.

“We’re not sure,” Josephine said.

“Though we can guess,” Leliana added. “The major courts--Denerim, Val Royeaux, Starkhaven. Kirkwall. Ostwick. Many of the noble houses, I assume. Particularly those who count mages among their recent progeny. I would not be surprised if Weisshaupt received one. And….” She trailed off, glancing at the door.

Jane’s eyes widened. “The Chantry,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Victoria won’t like this,” Cullen muttered.

Jane stared back down at the letter. _No,_ she agreed silently. What would the Divine do? She saw a dozen different futures play out in a single moment. Each one ended with Lizzie on the floor of a cell somewhere, or miserably playing a role she’d never want--or worse, dead.

All except one.

Cullen’s hand landed on her shoulder. She realized that she’d clutched the parchment so tightly, it was wrinkling. She loosened her grip and took a breath to steady herself. “Get Victoria.”

Josephine’s expression shifted to one of surprise. “But--”

“Get,” Jane snapped, “Victoria.”

There was a pause. Leliana made her way to the door. Jane could hear her murmur orders to a servant.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “Should we not discuss a plan first?”

“No,” Jane replied. Leliana rejoined them, closing the door. “I’m tired of these games. I’m tired of _the_ Game. We are part of the Chantry. She is the Divine.” Jane shook her head. “I’m sorry, Josie, but if I can’t speak with her frankly, then I shouldn’t be Inquisitor.”

Josephine hesitated. “Do you… do you know what you will say?”

Jane didn’t answer. She could sense the concern from Cullen and Josephine, and avoided their gazes. Her veins hummed with nervous energy, and she turned away. She began to pace.

Victoria could not have been far. She arrived with Grand Enchanter Ellendra a minute or two after the servant was sent. They were both dressed more formally than Jane had expected, and she suddenly wished that she had her uniform. She was still in her damp, blue cloak from her walk with Cullen, her hair knotted in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She tried to stand as tall as she could, hoping her title was enough.

“I think you know why we’re all here,” she said. Victoria raised an eyebrow at the sharpness of Jane’s tone. Jane held up the letter. “You’ve read this.”

“Indeed I have,” Victoria said mildly. “And I only hope that you're able to convince--”

“No,” Jane interrupted firmly. More than one person looked startled. She thrust the letter forward. “Everything in this letter sounds reasonable. These people are mages who lived at Skyhold for three years without incident. Some of them spent _months_ next to a breach in the Veil, one they eventually helped close. Using _magic._ You cannot tell me that they are suddenly a danger to themselves and others. I wouldn’t believe you.”

Victoria gave her a cool look. “May I remind you that one of these mages very nearly sold her charges and herself into slavery to Tevinter? Danger is relative, darling.”

“Fiona made a mistake out of desperation,” Jane said. “One I chose to forgive her for. And they didn’t put _Fiona_ in charge.” She stepped forward, gaining courage. “Your Perfection. Let me speak plainly. You have two choices. You can tell the world you have chosen to be benevolent and sanction this new College of Enchanters. If you do this, you will let them govern themselves, with as little interference as possible. You will not send templars after them. You’ll not send _Caitlin_ after them. You will leave them be.”

Victoria tilted her head. She wore no mask nowadays, but her face was still unreadable. “And if I do not?”

“Then our arrangement is null and void,” Jane said. “The Inquisition will withdraw from the Chantry. I will bring my people north with me to Kirkwall--including the remaining Inquisition mages who did not go to Cumberland, and my army. The Inquisition will endorse the College.” She narrowed her eyes, dropping her voice lower. “And if you or the Chantry do _anything_ to Cumberland--if you try to touch a _hair_ on my sister’s head--I will bring the might of my forces down upon you.”

Jane thought she saw a flicker of surprise in Vivienne’s gray eyes, mingled with something else. Both were buried too quickly for Jane to be sure. “I see,” Victoria said. To Jane’s surprise, she gave Jane a light smile. She glanced over her shoulder. “Ellendra, darling. Would you be a dear and draft a statement supporting the College of Enchanters?”

Ellendra opened her mouth, then shut it again. She nodded once and left.

Jane tried to keep her expression hard. She’d expected more of a fight. Victoria saw through her and chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised, darling. I am no fan of your sister’s little experiment--but I suppose apostates being trained by former Circle mages is better than apostates being trained by no one at all. And I can see this is… important to you.” She lifted her chin. “Believe me. I have no plans to lose the Inquisition over something so trivial.”

“Thank you,” Jane said uncertainly.

“Do not thank me yet,” Victoria warned. “If this College becomes a problem, then believe me, I will intervene.” She inclined her head. “Until then, enjoy your victory, Inquisitor.” She followed Ellendra out of the room, leaving Jane with her advisers.

“Well,” Cullen said when the door shut once more. “We’re lucky she didn’t try to call your bluff.”

Leliana eyed Jane carefully. “I do not think that was a bluff, Commander.”

Jane felt dizzy as the buzzing in her veins died. “No. It wasn’t,” she confirmed.

Cullen looked surprised. Josephine sighed, rubbing the spot between her eyes. “Well. Next time you threaten somebody with a Holy War, could you _please_ run it by at least _one_ of us first?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jane said.

“No, no,” Josephine said, waving a frustrated hand. “I admit it was… unexpected. But do not apologize. I’m not sure we could have planned for anything better. I simply meant we would all prefer to be in the know.” She pursed her lips. “I suppose we will need to release our _own_ statement on the College. Victoria's is certain to be brief. I’ll get started.”

As she left, Leliana approached Jane. “And I should reach out to our contacts. It would be helpful to know who else is planning to support your sister. I suspect many are waiting to see how Victoria reacts.” She gave Jane a furtive smile. “You did well, Inquisitor. The mages deserve this. And I sometimes forget that one can win without playing the Game.” She nodded and left.

Cullen and Jane were alone. He stared at Jane in confusion. “You almost declared a war,” he said, in disbelief.

“I know,” she said. It was surreal to hear the words spoken out loud.

“I thought you wanted stability,” he said. “Peace in the south, above all else. Protect the common folk. That was to be our mission statement, was it not?”

There was no judgement in his voice--only baffled curiosity--but even so, she glanced down, unable to look at him. She paused before answering. “It was,” she said. “I _do_ want to protect them.” 

She stood there for a moment, lost in thought. Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder. “But?” he asked. 

She exhaled. When she shut her eyes, she saw gray blue eyes filled with remorse and a sprawling elven temple. “But… not at the cost of my soul.”

 

~~~

 

Apparently, threatening the Divine with war did not merit a grudge. Victoria continued on as if nothing had changed. After her statement was released, many other leaders followed suit, ensuring that the College would survive--at least for now. The day before Jane left Longbourn, Victoria gave her a public blessing in front of the full Inquisition.

Jane had never liked blessings--they seemed to imply that the Maker’s favor could be bestowed on someone, when anyone who’d read the Chant should know it had been granted a single time in the past thousand years. But she did not argue. She knew the ceremony was more for the spectators than it was for either Victoria or Jane herself.

Afterwards, Josephine held a reception in the newly built Longbourn chantry. It was an elegant, modern building, made as much for entertaining as it was worship. First there was a children’s choir, and then a feast and a ball that would go late into the night. Jane used her pregnancy as an excuse to only attend the first part of the evening.

Jane enjoyed the music, more than she’d expected. The children were adorable. She leaned over to Cullen as the fifth song finished. “Do you think the baby will ever be in a chantry choir?” she asked with a grin.

“One day, perhaps,” he said. He smiled, looking at the floor. “I was, once.”

Jane’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at him. _“You_ were?” she whispered. “When?”

“In Honnleath,” he said quietly. “I started when I was ten.” Jane glanced back at the children in the apse. She pictured a young Cullen standing with them, tall and gangly with unruly blonde hair. Her heart tugged fondly. “I sang for just over two years,” he continued. “Then I joined the templars. They didn’t have a choir.”

Jane’s smile faded a little. She always forgot how young he was when he left home. Only thirteen. It was a wonder his parents could part with him. And, she reminded herself, most templars started even younger. Her hand wandered to her stomach. She did not think she’d be able to let her own child go so easily.

Polite clapping brought her back to the present. The choir had finished. People around her were rising, mingling near their seats before Josephine officially called dinner. Jane followed suit. A tray of drinks passed her, and Cullen was offered something. She was not; her plain, green dress made no attempt to hide her condition.

“Inquisitor,” she heard behind her. She turned to see Victoria, with a man wearing a yellow mask. The Divine gestured toward him with the glass of wine in her hand. “You remember Duke Laurent de Ghislain.”

“Of course,” Jane said. “Welcome to Longbourn, your Grace.” She touched Cullen’s arm with her hand. “May I present my husband, Cullen Rutherford?”

Laurent bowed. “A pleasure,” he said. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you,” Cullen said. “How was your journey?”

As the two men began speaking, Victoria took Jane aside. “I appreciate you doing this, darling. I know you must want to rest before you leave, but I assure you, this is _immeasurably_ helpful.”

Jane knew the importance of presenting a united front. “There’s no need to thank me,” she said.

Victoria smiled. “Will you be visiting the College in your journey north?”

Jane looked away. Her sister had not answered any of her letters. “Ah,” she said. “I…. No, we won’t.”

Victoria studied her face. Her expression turned sympathetic. “Don’t fret, darling,” she said. “She’ll come around.”

Jane wasn’t so sure. But she was alright with that, now. Her sister was safe; the Inquisition was gaining power; and she and Cullen were happy. Everything was fine.

“When do you head back to Val Royeaux?” she asked, changing the subject.

Victoria swirled her glass and took a sip. “I leave at the end of the month. I’ll visit Halamshiral, first. Celene has a new court enchanter, who I am eager to meet.”

Josephine rang the bell for dinner. Victoria gave Jane another smile. “I won’t see you in the morning, I assume,” she said.

“No,” Jane said. “We leave at dawn.”

“Then safe travels, Inquisitor. Maker guide your path.” They embraced and said goodbye. Jane watched as everyone filtered into the larger ballroom, connected to the chantry by a set of double doors. Cullen found her as the crowd dissipated.

“Ready to go?” he asked, offering his arm.

“More than ready,” she agreed.

 

~~~

 

Back at the house, she prepared for bed. She could largely do that alone now, though she suspected the pregnancy would prove more of a burden than her missing arm in the months to come. So far, she only had aches in her back and thin, darkened veins around her ankles, but she could sense the extra weight when she bent to remove her stockings. Cullen still had to braid her hair. Some days, she considered cutting it short.

As Cullen slipped into bed, she paused. There was a book on her vanity--a book of Orlesian poetry--one that she had not seen in several years. “What’s this?” she asked Cullen, holding it up.

He looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I….” Her voice trailed off. “I thought I’d packed all my books.” When she placed the book on the table to flip through the pages, it fell open to a middle section. There, three tiny flowers were tucked into the middle. They were made of faded felt that had once been red, for roses, but now looked pink--more like cherry blossoms. Her throat tightened as she understood. “Oh.”

_Cole._

“What’s wrong?” Cullen asked.

She shut the book. “Ah--nothing. It’s…. It’s a gift.”

She could read the confusion in Cullen’s silence, but when she didn’t elaborate, he dropped the matter. “Are you coming to bed?”

“In a bit,” Jane said distantly. She stood. “I should… I’d like to read a few pages, at least. I’ll go to the library.” She could sense his concern, and looked over her shoulder with a sad smile. “It’s fine. I won’t stay up long.”

“Alright,” he said doubtfully. He put out the candle on his bedside table with a pinch, while she blew out the one at her vanity. The room went dark. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said. She paused at the doorway. “I love you.”

“And I, you.”

The hallway was silent. Most of the staff and guests were still at the reception at the chantry. She walked down the stairs, already feeling nostalgic for a place she had not left. It made her think of Skyhold, the home to which she’d never said goodbye.

When she got to her father's library, she did not sit down to read. She did not even light a fire. Instead, she went to the window and placed her forehead on the cold glass. She took in an icy breath.

The stars were bright in the winter sky. She spotted Visus, the eye of the north. In the distant night, she looked toward Tevinter, where Leliana’s people had found traces of Solas’s agents. Toward Kirkwall, the place she hoped she’d learn to love, where her child would be born. Toward Ostwick, the city that had once been everything, back when the world had seemed very big, and kings and queens and Chantry Mothers had seemed very wise.

Toward Cumberland.

Nevarra was not far from Kirkwall. But distance did not matter when a bridge was broken. Still, it helped Jane hold on to a small thread of hope, a shred of possibility, that one day, they would see each other again. That one day, they would meet, and Jane would have a chance to say all the things she’d wanted to say. All the things she’d locked up in her heart.

_I never thanked you enough._

_Father would be proud_.

 _I miss you_.

 _I love you_.

She had to put the book down to dry her tears. After she’d rubbed her eyes with her sleeve, she took the three flowers out, the flowers her sister had made for her years ago in the Circle. As she cradled them in the palm of her remaining hand, she let out a breath.  

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She put them in her pocket and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per the Trespasser epilogue, if Vivienne is Divine: 
> 
> _As the Inquisition forces returned to civilian life, its mages pushed for independence from the Circle. Divine Victoria, secure on her Sunburst Throne - and with a rebuilt Chantry Circle at her disposal - chose to be magnanimous. She grudgingly allowed them to remain as the College of Enchanters, as a mark of her regard for the Inquisition. For the next few years, the College and the Circle coexisted peacefully, if barely._
> 
> Also, hi Ellendra! Sorry you don't get to speak. 
> 
> And thanks as always to Aethusa!


	12. Epilogue: Elizabeth

**_Justinian 9:45 Dragon  
_ _The College of Enchanters, Cumberland_ **

Elizabeth Trevelyan sat at the cluttered desk in her office, one hand massaging her forehead. She squinted at the letter in front of her. It was the seventh she’d received in as many months from Duke Sandral Anaxas, the man who currently controlled the duchy of Cumberland. Her gut instinct was to ignore it, as she had his previous six letters. This time, however, Fiona had fetched it from her discarded correspondence and placed it right back on her desk.

Elizabeth knew what it contained--several paragraphs insisting that the College had Cumberland’s full support, followed by a mention that his Grace’s offer of an official alliance still stood. She grimaced at the thought. The alliance was the main reason that she wanted to quietly pretend the letter didn’t exist, and why Fiona was pushing hard for a response.

The situation was delicate. Technically, his Grace could kick Elizabeth out of Cumberland, if he so wished. It was unlikely, given that his second cousin Viuus worked as a professor of necromancy on her staff, but still possible. The College was low on allies. Fiona argued that the prudent thing to do would be to write back and accept his offer.

But Elizabeth was skeptical. She understood what the _College_ would get out of making such an alliance--they were a young organization, vulnerable to being shut down or silenced. Linking themselves with a powerful house like Anaxas would solidify their standing. What she did not understand was what his Grace would get from _her._ Why would a noble, or a duchy, or anyone in a position of power seek an alliance with a group of vulnerable mages?

There had to be a catch. It couldn’t be out of the good of his heart, or a soft spot for his cousin. She knew for a fact that his Grace had done nothing to protect the few mages who’d remained at Cumberland’s circle during the war. Inquisitor Jane Trevelyan had been the one who intervened when the Venatori had tried to attack. Elizabeth remembered reading the report herself; the Inquisition agent involved had complained about the duke’s lack of interest in the matter.

Unfortunately, mentioning those concerns to Fiona would draw attention to her relationship with the Inquisitor, which….

Well, Elizabeth would prefer not to.

She felt bad. She knew that Fiona could not understand why they hadn’t capitalized on their connection to the Inquisition and its many allies. The truth was that Elizabeth did not trust her sister. She did not trust the duke. And while she’d never say it to her face, she did not trust Fiona, either. Elizabeth refused to potentially sign away the rights of the very mages she was trying to protect. The last time Fiona had made an alliance out of desperation, that was exactly what had happened.

Elizabeth slouched back in her chair. She pinched her nose, trying to ease her headache. The stacks of papers in her office never seemed to shrink, no matter how many reports she read, or how many replies she wrote. And that was not taking into account the classes she taught, or the weapons she made at night, or the creation of proper disciplinary measures for a group of mages, half of whom were adolescents with a healthy disrespect for authority.

The adults were even worse. On the one hand, she had Chancellor Benedict, the Chantry’s representative within the College. _Vivienne’s_ representative within the College, as far as Elizabeth was concerned. He was well chosen for the position. His sense of humor and charming Ferelden accent made his opinions _seem_ reasonable, even when they were not. He was her age, or perhaps a little older--old enough to remember the Blight, but young enough to feel comfortable among the people his elders would consider apostates. Wisely, he framed the majority of his objections as if he were a concerned friend of the College. Was requiring no Harrowing not a step too far, he’d ask? Didn't the mages realize how good they already had it? The College allowed them rights--careers, marriage, family--all the things that the Circle denied them. Were they not aware that they would be under much stricter rules and regulations elsewhere? According to Benedict, only an extremist would be unsatisfied with the amount of progress that had been made in the past year.

On the other hand, there was Adrian. If talking to Benedict made Elizabeth feel like a radical libertarian, talking to Adrian--an actual libertarian--made her feel like a cold-hearted grand cleric. Adrian came at every issue with a tenacity that would be impressive, were it not wildly out of proportion half the time. She did not understand the concept of picking a hill to die on; Elizabeth suspected that she would die on a sharp incline, if given the chance. She’d made it very clear to Elizabeth that the only reason she and her followers were at the College in the first place was that the Chantry would consider them apostates and hunt them anywhere else.

Benedict believed that Adrian was an overdramatic idiot, while Adrian called Benedict the lackey of a despot. Keeping the two of them appeased and away from each other was a diplomatic feat that made Elizabeth yearn for Josephine Montilyet. As it was, she was on her own, trying to find a balance between them.

 _Balance is an illusion, Trevelyan,_ Hawke’s voice echoed in her head.

Elizabeth scoffed. “And sometimes, illusions are necessary,” she muttered back.

As if Hawke could hear her.

A knock came at the door, interrupting her thoughts. She glanced up. “Enter.”

Her young research assistant Roch ducked his head around the door. “Trevelyan,” he said.

“Roch,” she replied. She was pleased that Roch had joined her at the College. He’d been one of her star pupils back at Skyhold, and would be a brilliant mage one day--providing he got over his good looks and cocky attitude.

An attitude that was strangely absent this evening, she realized. Her eyes flicked over him as he shut the door. His movements were shaky with nervous energy, and his breath was rapid, as if he’d just been running. The boy was tall for an elf, and lanky. He was a few years short of twenty, but there was something about his expression right then that made him look like a twelve-year-old with a secret.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”

“Um. You’ve a visitor,” he told her in his Starkhaven brogue.

“Someone we know?” she asked warily.

“It’s….” He paused, glancing around as if expecting to see someone hiding in the corner. Satisfied they were alone, he lowered his voice. _“It’s the Lady Seeker.”_

That caught Elizabeth off guard. “Cassandra Pentaghast?”

“Yes.”

“She’s here?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth stared. “At the College.”

_“Yes.”_

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Roch exclaimed. “I must have seen her a hundred times around Skyhold. Just from a distance, of course, but she’s….” He gulped, searching for the word. It was hard to tell with his dark complexion, but he may have been blushing. “She’s _memorable._ And Barris recognized her straight away. He greeted her at the entrance. She left her horse and some belongings with the stable master. I heard her telling Barris she wants to see you.” He shook his head in amazement. In a panicked whisper, he added, “What do I do?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth and then shut it again. Why would Cassandra Pentaghast be in Cumberland? Last Elizabeth had heard, she’d resigned from the Inquisition and moved on to Orlais, hoping to rebuild a new Order of Seekers. The two women had not seen each other since Halamshiral, nearly a year ago. She supposed Cassandra had plenty of reason to visit Nevarra--though Elizabeth could not remember her mentioning family often.

_Unless…._

Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. Vivienne’s easy acceptance of the College had always felt off, leaving Elizabeth waiting for the other shoe to drop. Could Cassandra be there on behalf of the Seekers of Truth? There was a rumor that she’d had a falling out with the Divine, but that did not necessarily mean her organization was not working with the Chantry. Elizabeth looked around her room, at the stacks and stacks of unread mail, panicking.

They were in no way prepared for an investigation.

“Shit,” she whispered to herself. She realized Roch was still staring at her expectantly. “Go. Intercept them. Introduce yourself. Give me five minutes, and then bring her in.”

Roch’s mouth fell open. “You want me to _talk_ to her?”

Elizabeth gave him a pointed look. “Preferably, yes,” she said dryly. “Though if you’re not up to the task, I suppose hand signals would suffice.” Roch’s gaze drifted in horror, as if envisioning all the things that could go wrong. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Roch. Before dawn breaks, please?”

“Right,” he said, shaking himself. He looked as if she’d just told him to kill an ogre. “Right. I’ll just go… _talk_ to Cassandra Pentaghast.” After letting out a long breath, he glanced down at himself. He held out his arms. “How do I look?”

_“Roch.”_

“Got it!” he said, slipping into the hallway. “Not important!”

As soon as the door shut, Elizabeth stood. Picking up one large pile of papers, she went to the bookshelf in the corner and began stacking them quickly. The papers seemed more organized when lined up between a few scrolls and tomes. Next, she opened a half-empty chest below the window and shoved in as much of the mess as she could. There was space in a couple of the bottom drawers of her desk, she found, and she made use of that, too. Finally, she brushed her hands together and glanced around the room.

It was good enough. The desk remained cluttered, but it no longer looked like it belonged to a madwoman. She rifled through another drawer and pulled out her brass looking glass.

Elizabeth peered at her reflection.

An exhausted woman with bloodshot eyes stared back.

She sighed. At least she probably looked better than she had at the Winter Palace. Her face and frame were fuller--she’d gained both muscle and weight since she’d left the Inquisition. Her hair was short, just long enough to tuck behind her ears. And she’d begun applying a red tint to her lips. Ellendra had told her once, ages ago, that the color made her look dignified; these days, Elizabeth figured she needed all the help she could get.

She touched her chin. There was a faint white line there from the anchor, one she still wasn’t quite used to. At least Cassandra had seen her receive the scar and would not be surprised or ask about it.

When she heard footsteps approaching, she shoved the looking glass back in her desk. She smoothed her robes and made sure her left sleeve was pulled all the way down. She wondered if she looked too morbid, dressed all in black and brown, but it was too late to change now.

The door opened. Cassandra Pentaghast entered.

“Lady Seeker,” Elizabeth greeted stiffly.

“Elizabeth. It is good to see you,” Cassandra said as Roch snuck out and closed the door. She took in Elizabeth’s appearance. “You are looking well.”

“...thank you,” Elizabeth said hesitantly. Before she could process what was happening or return the compliment, Cassandra had stepped forward with her right hand extended. Elizabeth found herself clasping it. “Welcome to the College of Enchanters.”

“Thank you.”

She stepped back. “I… must admit, this is a bit of a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Cassandra blinked. “You did not receive my letter? I sent it several weeks ago.”

Elizabeth shot the chest under her window a guilty glance. It was probably sitting somewhere in the untouched pile of personal correspondence. “No,” she told Cassandra. “I did not.”

“Ah,” Cassandra said, disappointed. “Allow me to apologize. It should have occurred to me to give you more notice. I have been travelling these past few months. Recruiting for the Seekers. Cumberland was along my way. I have been curious to see the College for myself.” She examined the office with interest, then looked back at Elizabeth with a smile. “And it seemed a good opportunity to visit an old friend.”

Elizabeth let out a tiny breath of relief. So the visit was not official. “I see. Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. And I’m sure Denny was pleased to see you.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Denny?”

“Yes.”

Cassandra tilted her head, perplexed. A spark of understanding came to her eye. “Ah. You mean the Knight-Commander.” Elizabeth nodded. Cassandra seemed faintly amused. “I am not here to visit him.”

"You mentioned an old friend?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “I was speaking of you.”

Elizabeth blinked. Her lips parted. Something resembling an, _“oh,”_ escaped her.

Cassandra’s amusement faded. “If this is not a good time, of course--,” she began awkwardly.

“No,” Elizabeth rushed to say. “No, this is the perfect time. Forgive me, I--”

She cut herself off and took a moment to recover. The truth was that there was never a good time, but she was too touched by Cassandra’s words to think clearly. In Elizabeth’s mind, Cassandra had always been Jane’s friend, not hers. But as she re-examined her memories in a new light, she realized that she and Cassandra _had_ been quite close toward the end--particularly during the fiasco at the Winter’s Palace. As the only two official Inquisition members who’d followed Jane through the eluvian each time, they had a better grasp of what her sister was dealing with, both in the field and behind closed doors. They’d spent most of that terrible week whispering their concerns in the hallways of the _chateau,_ worrying over Jane’s downward spiral, the qunari, and the future of the Inquisition.

Not to mention Vivienne.

Elizabeth chided herself. She suddenly felt ashamed--she’d truly believed Cassandra might act against her. There was a line between caution and paranoia, one she was too prone to blurring these days.

“Forgive me,” Elizabeth said again, when she’d found her voice. She tried for an apologetic smile. “As I said, your arrival was a surprise, but that does not excuse my behavior. Old friends deserve a much warmer reception.” Cassandra relaxed slightly at Elizabeth’s return of her endearment. “Let me try again. Welcome to the College of Enchanters. We’re-- _I’m--_ very happy to have you here.”

“Are you certain? If this is an intrusion, there is an inn, back in the city--”

Elizabeth dismissed the offer. “Maker’s breath! I’m not going to make you stay at the Diamond Lass, of all places.” She lowered her voice. “But don’t tell Varric. He’d never forgive me if he knew I stopped you from staying at the world’s most famous dwarven tavern. I’m fairly sure he receives a share in the profits through the Guild.” Cassandra chuckled, relaxing further. Elizabeth gestured toward the door. “Please. Let me give you a tour. Classes end before dinner, so there won’t be many students, but I can show you the Sun Dome and the library.”

Cassandra tilted her chin up. “Very well. Lead the way, Head Enchanter.”

 

~~~

 

The tour took the better part of an hour. Cassandra asked many questions, clearly as interested in what Elizabeth was trying to accomplish as anyone on her staff. By the end of it, they’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm. It was true that Cassandra was a reserved woman, but beneath the exterior, there was a warm earnestness that Elizabeth had forgotten she once enjoyed. Perhaps without the Inquisition, their temperaments and personalities would have made them a mismatched pair--but some experiences change two people in such a way that friendship becomes inevitable.

Cassandra fell silent as they headed back toward to the south side of the building. Elizabeth could sense that she was lost in thought. She continued the tour without pressing her. At the end, they turned down the same hallway in which they’d begun, heading toward Elizabeth’s office.

“You grew up near here, so I imagine this all looks familiar to you.”

“Less so than you might think.” Cassandra frowned. “My uncle’s house was far more depressing.”

Elizabeth glanced at a skull carved above one of the windows. “Ah. Nevarran architecture certainly urges us to reflect on our own mortality as much as possible,” she agreed. She paused outside her office. “The rest of the tour will have to wait until morning. I have some work to finish. I can have Roch lead you to the guest wing, if you’d like. Or to the kitchens, if you still need supper.”

Cassandra hesitated. “Not quite yet. There is… something else I wish to discuss with you first. In private.”

Elizabeth gave her a quizzical look, but acquiesced, leading them to her office. She closed the door and took the seat behind her desk, gesturing at the two chairs set in front. “Please. Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Cassandra took one chair. She weighed her words. “I have a proposition for you. For the College.” She clasped her hands loosely between her legs. “My Seekers. They are an impressive group of men and women. However, they are….” She shrugged. “I will be blunt. They are green. Now that the Venatori have fled back to Tevinter and the rifts are gone, I find it difficult for them to gain experience.” She met Elizabeth’s gaze. “I am hoping we can come to an arrangement.”

Elizabeth understood immediately. “You need mages for them to fight.”

“Yes. But I am not simply thinking of combat,” Cassandra said. “I want them to learn to work with mages. To take some of the classes that your College offers. To understand magic--both its dangers, _and_ its uses.” She studied her hands. “I have… plans for them. Plans that require trained men.” She gave Elizabeth an apologetic glance. “Plans I cannot discuss quite yet.”

“I see.”

“I believe your students would benefit from such an arrangement, as well,” Cassandra continued. “Seekers once helped mages train to strengthen their will. And mages once helped Seekers hunt demons and maleficarum.” She hesitated again. “In fact, if you would be amenable, I would invite two apprentices of your choosing to join us in Orlais.”

“Mages can’t be Seekers. Can they?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Cassandra said. “But they were once led by one.” She gave Elizabeth a faint smile. “Ameridan was a great man. I do not intend to let history forget him twice.”

Elizabeth considered what such an opportunity would mean for some of her students. As she turned Cassandra's offer over in her mind, another idea occurred to her. She studied Cassandra’s earnest expression and came to a decision.

“I’ll need to speak with Denny about it,” she said. “I doubt he will object, but it’s imperative that the men under his command feel at home here. _I_ know you are not the Seekers of old, but there is an association.”

“I understand.”

“As long as he agrees, however, the College will accept your offer.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows rose. Clearly, she’d expected more discussion before anything happened. “Really?”

“Really,” Elizabeth said, standing. She went over to a tray near her bookshelf. Pulling out two small glasses, she began to pour a small amount of port from a decanter. “In fact, perhaps we can go a step further.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our organizations have much in common. We are both recent incarnations of centuries old institutions. The Chantry tolerates our existence, but we do not fall under its command. And we both know about--” She cut herself off with a wince. “We are both aware that Thedas will face… certain threats in the future. We would make natural allies.”

Cassandra did not answer immediately. “Allies?” she asked after a pause.

“Allies.”

“I did not realize the College was interested in forming alliances.”

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. “We weren't. People have tried to make us offers--but they’ve asked for nothing in return, which makes me uneasy. I’m not exactly fond of owing favors. In my opinion, the College should not feel beholden to the will of others.” She handed Cassandra one glass and leaned back against her desk. “I like this better. It’s straightforward. I’ll help your Seekers, and you’ll help my mages. Publically, we endorse each other. If one day, either of us needs the other’s assistance, we give it. And if the alliance ends, so do the other parts of our agreement.”

Cassandra considered. “Allies,” she repeated. She worked her jaw, then nodded firmly. “Very well.”

“Wonderful.” Elizabeth held out her glass with a smile. “I look forward to our partnership.”

Cassandra clinked it. “To our partnership.” They both drank. Cassandra sat back, crossing one leg over the other. “You should know that I would not accept your offer if I were not impressed. What you’ve done in so little time is nothing less than remarkable.”

“I didn’t do it alone.”

Cassandra gave her a pointed look. “Elizabeth. I can tell from the state of your office that _you_ must be credited with most of this.”

Elizabeth shifted, looking away. “You flatter me.”

“It is only the truth,” Cassandra insisted.

Elizabeth’s face grew warm. She had never been one to accept compliments easily--even less so when she thought them undeserved. She wondered what Cassandra would say if she told her about the piles of papers that she’d hidden in her chest and drawers.

“You said you’ve been recruiting,” she said instead, changing the subject.

“I did.”

She retreated behind her desk and sat down. “How has that been?”

“Interesting,” Cassandra said. “I have enjoyed the travelling aspect much more than I expected. So much has changed since the war.” She rubbed her knee, studying Elizabeth’s face. “I… have had the chance to visit some of our old colleagues. The last city I was in before Cumberland was Kirkwall.”

“Ah,” Elizabeth said, her eyes flicking down. She took another sip of port before speaking. “And… how is everyone there?”

“They are well.”

She paused. “My sister?” she asked hesitantly. “And the baby?”

“Both are in good health,” Cassandra confirmed.

Elizabeth nodded, relieved. Eight weeks ago, the Inquisitor had given birth to a boy--Trevelyan Arthur Rutherford. Everyone had known that Jane was pregnant, but it had still been a shock to receive the announcement as early as they did. It twisted Elizabeth’s heart to think that she had missed her father’s funeral, her sister’s wedding, and now, the birth of her first nephew.

“Are they happy?” she asked. “Jane and Cullen, I mean.”

“They seem to be,” Cassandra said. “They are tired,” she added after a pause. “The baby requires constant attention.”

Elizabeth huffed. “So he takes after Lydia,” she joked weakly.

Cassandra smiled, but it did not last. “Elizabeth,” she said, not unkindly. “I… realize it is not my business, but….” She hesitated. “It is obvious that Jane misses you.”

Elizabeth sighed, looking away. “I know,” she said in a quiet voice. “I miss her, too.”

“Then…?” Cassandra trailed off, the question left unasked.

“You’re aware of the circumstances. You didn’t stay, either.”

“No,” Cassandra said. “But I write to her. I visit.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s different for me,” she said. “You must know that. I’m a mage, and….” She swallowed. “What would you do in my position?”

Cassandra did not reply immediately. She put her port down. Elizabeth thought she would let the matter drop, but instead, she exhaled, pain flickering across her face. “I had a brother once,” she admitted. “Anthony.” Elizabeth watched her, surprised. Cassandra had never mentioned siblings. “We were… close. Sometimes, we argued, but it was never sincere.” Cassandra’s eyes squeezed shut. When they opened, they were bright, focusing on Elizabeth. “He is dead. In your position, I would do anything for a chance to speak with him again. Whether you have forgiven her or not, you should not take this opportunity for granted.”

Elizabeth felt a wave of guilt, but she stayed firm. “I am sorry, Cassandra,” she said. “But this isn’t about about forgiveness. There is more at stake than just me and Jane. I have to put the College first. At least until it’s stable.”

“What does the College have to do with anything?”

“It’s Vivienne,” Elizabeth explained tiredly. “Any connection between Jane and myself could be exploited. I’m worried that she could use the Inquisition to shut down the College. And I can’t take that risk.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Most Holy would not dare pursue the College. Not after what Jane did to protect you.”

“To protect me?” Elizabeth asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Cassandra blinked. She seemed to realize something. “Oh,” she said, sitting back. “You do not know.”

“Know what?” Elizabeth asked warily.

Cassandra took the time to gather her words. “When the Inquisition received word of the College’s founding, Victoria made swift plans to act against you. Jane did not even let her share them with the council. She told Victoria that if the Chantry did anything to harm the College, they would face the wrath of the Inquisition.” Elizabeth’s eyes widened in growing disbelief as Cassandra continued. “In fact, she insisted Victoria endorse you. Leliana tells me that Thedas was all but on the verge of a holy war.”

“A holy war!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “But… how? How did she compel Vivienne to endorse us?”

“Jane threatened to withdraw from the Chantry.”

“Withdraw from the….” Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind was spinning. “No,” she said. “No. That’s impossible. Jane wants a stable Thedas,” she insisted. “She needs peace. She _needs_ the Chantry. She’s done everything she possibly can to ensure that the South won’t fall. She would never threaten the Divine with a _war.”_

“And yet, she did. On your behalf.”

Elizabeth sucked in a breath. So, this was the truth behind Vivienne’s unexpected benevolence. This was the reason that the College still stood. Elizabeth should have guessed that Jane had intervened. In her mind, she counted all the letters she had received from Jane over the past few months--letters that she had ignored.

“Maker,” she said, half to herself. “I’m a fool.”

“I would not go that far,” Cassandra assured her. “Your concerns were not without merit. But…  perhaps you should write to her, now that you know.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. She rubbed her forehead, swallowing. “You’re right. I should.”

“Good. I promise she will be glad to hear from you.” Cassandra stood, stretching her back. “Forgive me. I have taken enough of your time tonight. We can talk more in the morning.” Elizabeth went to stand as well, and Cassandra gestured that she should not bother. “Please. Stay. I interrupted your work. I can find--what is the boy’s name again?”

“Roch,” Elizabeth said, sitting back down.

“I can find _Roch_ myself.”

Despite the heavy information she’d just learned, Elizabeth felt a faint smile rising to her lips at the mention of her assistant. “If you don’t mind me asking, did Roch actually talk to you? Or did he just stand there mutely?”

“The boy?” Cassandra asked. She looked incredulous. “Are you joking? He would not _stop_ talking! I asked him about life at the College, and he started babbling about animals, for some reason.”

“Animals?”

“Yes. I have never heard so much about cats before in my life.”

“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said. She felt bad for putting him up to a task he found so intimidating, but she could not help the little laugh that escaped her. “Be gentle with him, will you? I think he has a bit of a crush on you.”

“On _me?”_ Cassandra exclaimed. She let out a puff of disbelief. “Surely not. I am old enough to be his mother.”

“Even so. He called you _memorable.”_ Elizabeth tried to pour all the meaning Roch had into the word.

“Maker’s breath,” Cassandra muttered. “A _crush._ I killed a dragon before he was even born.”

Elizabeth gave her an innocent look. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Good night,  Elizabeth,” she said dryly as she headed toward the door.

“Enjoy the walk to the guest wing,” Elizabeth teased, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper as she spoke. “Perhaps this time, you’ll get to hear about horses.”

Cassandra made a noise that might have been a snort. She reached for the handle, then stopped herself. “I--. I have one final question, actually. Something I have long wished to ask about your… disappearancefrom Halamshiral.”

Elizabeth paused, quill in hand. “I’m not going to tell you how I did it, if that’s what you mean," she said a little wryly.  “We may be allies, but I can't just go around giving up apostate secrets to Seekers of Truth.” 

“That part is obvious. You used the Ring of Doubt. And I suspect you travelled with either Varric or the Iron Bull. They both went North shortly after the Exalted Council. It would have been easy to hide among the Chargers, or be part of Varric’s retinue.” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying Cassandra’s suspicions. “There is one thing I could never figure out, however.” Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Your phylactery.” Elizabeth went still, her smile fading. Every ounce of amusement in her died. Cassandra did not seem to notice. “Forgive my curiosity, but how did you manage to steal it?”

Elizabeth looked away. For a moment, she considered lying. With a careful hand, she placed the quill back in her inkwell as she cleared her throat. “It was Solas, actually,” she said at last.

Cassandra’s eyes went wide. _“Oh._ I….” She broke off, appalled. “Elizabeth. I am sorry. I should not have pried--”

“It’s fine,” Elizabeth interrupted. “You couldn’t have known.” She weighed her options, then sighed. “But if you _are_ going to know, you should know all of it.”

Cassandra stared at her silently. Elizabeth crossed her arms and rubbed them with her hands, warming herself. There were times when memories of Solas leaked out from the space where they were hidden--memories that made no sense, now that she knew the truth. Memories that she could not reconcile with what she’d learned. Memories that made her angry, and sad, and wistful all at once.

The phylactery was one of them.

“It was after Jane killed Corypheus,” she said. “After Solas had already left Skyhold. Morrigan found a box next to the eluvian. She told me it said my name, in elven.” Elizabeth had expected this to be difficult, but the words fell out in a rhythm, like the Chant. She did not feel pain. Not yet, at least. She felt nothing. “Inside was my phylactery and a note. Also in elven.”

“What did the note say?”

“That I was free.”

Cassandra’s gaze drifted, shocked. “The phylactery,” she said, her eyes snapping back to Elizabeth. “What did you do with it?”

“I….” The feeling of detachment faded, and the dam in her heart began to crumble. She swallowed. “I kept it, at first. We never exchanged anything. For a while, it was the only thing I had left of him.” She hugged herself tighter, staring at her desk, lost in her memories. “There were the murals. And there were letters. Some notebooks. Sketches. But the phylactery was different. It was mine. I knew what it represented. Well. I thought I knew. Everything between us happened so quickly that at times it felt like it had all been a dream. As though I had made the whole thing up in my head. But the phylactery was _real._ It was something I could touch. Something I could carry. It meant that no matter what happened, at one point, he’d….”

She stopped herself abruptly, blinking. For a moment, she’d forgotten that someone else was in the room. When she glanced up, Cassandra was watching her, mesmerized.

“That he’d?” she asked breathlessly.

Elizabeth tore her eyes away. “That he’d existed,” she said carefully. She stared down at her desk. “But that was before. Before the Exalted Council. Once I knew, I destroyed it. I had to. There was no use for it anymore.”

“I see,” Cassandra said. Her voice turned sympathetic. She bowed her head. “For what it is worth, I am sorry.”

“As am I,” Elizabeth said.

They both fell silent. Cassandra ran a hand over her head. Elizabeth sighed, rubbing the spot between her eyes.

“I can’t understand it,” she admitted. The words had escaped before she could pull them back. She never spoke of this, not even to herself. 

“Understand what?”

Elizabeth took a quick breath. “Why, with all his lies, and all his plans, he would go through the trouble of getting my phylactery for me.”

The look Cassandra gave her was pitying and sincere. “Can you not?” she asked softly.

Elizabeth closed her eyes painfully. Her jaw clenched. She couldn't speak through the sudden tightness of her throat.

“Thank you,” Cassandra said. “For telling me this.” Elizabeth remained silent. “I apologize for….” Cassandra trailed off, and then sighed, deciding against it. “Good night, Elizabeth. I will see you in the morning.”

The door creaked open, then closed with a click. Elizabeth let out all the air in her lungs. In the quiet darkness of her office, she could hear the faraway roar of the ocean.

After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled the chain around her neck and produced a key from beneath her robes. She slid it into the top drawer of her desk. Her hands trembled slightly as she turned it and pulled the drawer open.

There sat the box.

She placed it on her desk with both hands. Gently, her fingers traced each ridge of the intricate lettering. Over the years, she’d memorized the curves and angles so well that she could probably write the word herself.

_Elizabeth._

When she focused, she could still hear his voice saying her name. Fond and quiet, when they were alone in the library. Wry and chiding, when she teased him. Low and warm, when they were tangled in bed, his lips brushing against her throat.

Beneath the wood, her phylactery hummed. It tugged at her like riptide, tempting her to sink deeper. She let herself go. Memories washed over her. The steel gray of his eyes. The faintness of his smile when he spoke. The strength of his shoulders as they shifted beneath his armor.

For as long as she could, she kept the darkness at bay.

But it was not in her nature to deny the truth for long.

_Fen’Harel._

Her breath released. Startled, she pulled her hands back. The candles in the room flickered, as if a breeze had disturbed them.

Elizabeth grit her teeth. It should not be so difficult to hate him. Leaning forward, she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, biting back tears.

She knew she should destroy it, just as she’d told Cassandra she already had. There was no reason to keep it any longer. The person she kept it for had never existed. He was a lie. A fabrication, created by a monster in need of a weapon.

She _did_ hate him. If not always, then she did in these moments, at least. She hated that he had done this for her. That her whole life was built on this _gift._ Without him, she would never have created the College. She would never have left the Inquisition. She would never have had her freedom, just as that damned note said.

 _Why?_  When it had just been Solas, she'd understood, but now…. _Now…._ Why would _this man_ do such a thing? What could he possibly gain? She could not make sense of it.

In her head, she heard Cassandra’s response echo over and over, like a persistent bird in the spring. _Can you not? Can you not? Can you not?_

The thought that it wasn't a lie was worse, somehow. The thought that Jane could be right. That there could be a trace of truth to the quiet apostate whose opinions ran as deep as his pride, and whose desire to help outweighed both. The thought that he might actually have felt something for her--that he, a thousands-year-old being, had felt _anything_ for _her._ And the thought that even if he had, he’d still chosen devastation and massacre, because it was not enough.

A lifetime ago, when she'd confronted him in the Fade, he'd said, _Whatever I feel,_ you _would not be worth it._

They were, perhaps, the only honest words he’d ever told her.

Elizabeth’s hands slid up over her forehead. Her fingers grasped the roots of her hair. The phylactery continued to hum.

She knew she should destroy it.

And she knew that she couldn’t.

Inhaling, she tightened the grip on her hair to the point of pain. _Stop,_ she told herself. She dug for the skills the Circle had taught her--the ability to smother her feelings--to conquer what she could, and portion off any emotions that she could not. With deep, even breaths, she soothed the wild storm inside her, preparing to lock it all away.

Seconds ticked by. Eventually, she straightened. She placed the box back in her desk; just as easily, she buried her heart. After the drawer was secure, and the key was hidden beneath her robes, she dabbed her eyes with her sleeves.

There was a letter to write. With a gesture, she brightened the candle in front of her and pulled her quill back out of its inkwell. The blank sheet of paper was still waiting on her desk. Her hand hesitated above it as she considered what to say. A drop of ink fell; a black spot bloomed at the top of the page. Biting her lip, she forced the quill in her hand to scratch out the words.

 _Dear Jane,_ she began. _I hear congratulations are in order._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, my friends! Thank you so much for reading; I'm eternally grateful for your support and enjoyment. Even if we've never spoken or you've never commented, the fact that I've been able to share something I wrote with you and you _liked it_ blows me away. 
> 
> It's been a fun ride these past two years. While I have some idea where this might go, I'd like to try and stick to the games' story, if possible. Until DA4 comes out, I'll be praying nightly to the Bioware Gods that I haven't painted Elizabeth and Jane into some sort of corner. I do plan on expanding the story of my Warden (Catherine Cousland, Northanger Abbey) and my Champion (Marianne Hawke, Sense & Sensibility), so if either of those concepts interest you, keep your eyes peeled :) 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under the same username if you want ([wardsarefunctioning](https://wardsarefunctioning.tumblr.com/)). I accept prompts, and adore receiving questions and memes. 
> 
> Thank you again! And Happy New Year!


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